Unstoppable
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Where cable cars climb halfway to the stars... San Francisco socialite Laura Roslin is drawn to a mysterious sailor who saves her from an attack. A multi-chapter Adamsverse story co-written by Bugsfic. Prequel to Unbreakable.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For those of you new to this A/U, this is the prequel to Unbreakable. We wrote Unstoppable after Unbreakable, but it is set prior to that fic. It's up to you which way you'd rather read them, but I always rather Unbreakable first, therefore, that's the way I posted.**

Laura Roslin strolled along the dark, foggy pier on the San Francisco Bay waterfront. She rubbed her arms with her gloved hands. The fog was settling in her bones, but she loved the sharp salty night air and creosote smell rising from the heavy planks.

A dark figure loomed out of the mist. A man, not tall, but stocky. He wore a pea coat and watch cap, the uniform of the seamen. He blocked Laura's way and stared straight at her as he puffed on a cigarette. His worn features-she couldn't decide if they were interesting or frightening-were festooned with a thick graying mustache.

She raised her chin. This was her dock-she owned this pier and its warehouse, dammit-and he could just get out of her way.

"Excuse me," she said coolly.

He tossed aside his cigarette. "Come on you," his impossibly deep, raspy voice said.

"Excuse me!?" she repeated, looking down her nose at him.

"Come on, Jake, this lady wants to pass," the man said, tugging on a leash she now saw in his large hand.

A black and white shepherd of some indeterminate breed burst out from behind a thick piling and lunged at Laura.

"Down, boy!" yelled the man.

The dog wrapped his leash around her legs, panting with excitement.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." The sailor began to circle Laura, trying to unwind the leash, but was making it tighter.

"Can't you control that beast?" Her thoughts were in disarray; she was bemused by the ridiculous situation, a bit frightened to feel a stranger's body brushing against hers, but couldn't help but note this man's scent. He smelled of the sea too, and sandalwood soap.

"Nope," he said shortly. "Just got him."

She appreciated his honesty and found herself smiling despite her discomfort.

"Okay," he said. "Here's what we're gonna do-Sit!"

"I can't, sir," Laura said, fighting her terrible habit of giggling. "The leash is too tight."

He shot her a withering look and that's when she was shocked to see that his eyes were a deep, almost unnatural blue on his olive-skinned face. "Jake, sit."

Both were surprised to see the dog comply, his tail thumping joyfully on the dock.

"Okay," said the sailor. "You unwind, and I'll hold Jake."

Laura quickly whirled out of the leash before Jake could change his mind. She clung to her hat to keep it in place. "I feel just like Ginger Rogers," she gasped.

He chuckled and she thought it was a delightful sound, throaty as his voice. She smiled back.

Shortening his leash, the sailor dropped his gaze. "I apologize, ma'am."

"It's fine," she assured him. "Most fun I've had all day."

He looked around. "You shouldn't be out here, a lady like yourself."

Her smile faded and her back straightened. "I walk here all the time."

His thick brows rose and his warm gaze moved slowly over her body. "Oh, I see...I heard 'frisco has a better class of ladies of the night."

Mortified, she said, "Good evening, sir," in her coldest tone.

She felt his eyes on her as she walked off, and forced herself not to hurry. No man would frighten her.

Bill watched the woman walk away-the view from this angle was particularly pleasing to a man who'd been at sea for months. The seams of her hose climbed the curves of her sleek calves, leading his gaze up to her swinging hips.

It had been too dark to get a really good look at her face, but he'd liked the way the streetlamp's light had balanced on the planes of her features, and the curve of her lips as she'd smiled had been enticing. Not the usual come-on leer of a prostitute...

It'd been a while, maybe he could...

He shoved his hand into his pocket, jingling the coins there. He had no idea what this type of dame would charge. And how to ask? Usually the lady in question came out and let you know right off the bat. From her fox stole, it appeared that this one obviously had a much higher rate than the ones he usually saw hanging around the docks.

...

Laura's heels' clacks sounded loud and menacing to her own ears. The darkness closed in; the fog chilled her. Then she spotted her silver Aston-Martin parked at the curb and she released a breath of relief-

Hands grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground.

She started to scream, but a gloved hand clapped over her mouth. "Be still," a strangely accented voice growled in her ear.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was the sailor with the dog, then dismissed that thought. This was something terrible and awful. She tried to fight, but the arms holding her were like steel. Her head went light from lack of oxygen. With every gasping breath, her mouth and nose were blocked by the leather glove. As her body slackened, the attacker fumbled at her left wrist-

"Let go o'her!" bellowed a deep voice behind them, joined by sharp dog barks.

Laura was released, falling to the dock in an undignified heap. The attacker ran off.

"Are you all right?"

A large, warm hand gently pushed back her disheveled hair and straightened her hat. "Ma'am?"

He simply must stop calling her that; she felt like a schoolmarm. "Laura."

"What?"

"I'm Laura."

"Hello, Laura, I'm Bill." His smile flashed in the dark and she stared up at him, drowning in his deep waters gaze. She decided his scarred and rugged face was handsome, but that thick mustache had to go; it was hiding that smile's gleam.

"Get outta the way, sailor," a deep voice growled behind Bill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he found a slick-haired thug leering at him in the semi-darkness, slapping his fist into the palm of his other hand menacingly. He gestured for Laura to remain crouched behind him. Hoping she'd escape while he kept the goon occupied, Bill attempted to circle the man away. Jake joined in, giving a threatening growl from beside his master's legs.

A second man suddenly appeared out of the fog.

"Come on, let's hurry up and get it. He's just an old man," the new thug on the scene scoffed.

Frozen with horror, Laura watched as they approached her sailor from opposite sides. Then she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as they jumped him, raining punches on Bill. Fists slapped against bare skin; cracked on bone. At one particularly loud grunt, her eyes flew open. She saw her sailor's elbow jab into the groin of the second attacker and the man buckling at his knees.

"This old man's just kicked your ass," Bill sneered as he loomed over the hunched figure.

He spoke too soon. The other attacker sucker-punched him from behind. The prone man kicked out, knocking Bill's legs out from under him.

Laura screamed as the men jumped atop Bill, pummeling him. He struggled to his feet, gainfully staying in the battle, his hard fists knocking his attackers down again and again.

"Get outta here!" he managed to yell at her.

He was right; she must do something. Laura scrambled to her feet. Her car was close. Flinging herself behind the wheel, she started the powerful motor, flipping on the bright lights. They lit up the combatants.

Bill was down, curled up to protect his body from the heavy boots and thumping fists of his attackers. Jake ran around the men, nipping at their heels, trying to help his master.

Gunning the engine, Laura jumped the curb, bearing down on the fight.

The heads popped up on the attackers, their eyes shining fear in the strong beams. She slammed on the brakes, skidding sideways. Not waiting around to see if she was serious, the men ran off into the fog.

Leaning over, she pushed the door open. "Get in!"

On his hands and knees, Bill made his way to the car, and pulled himself up into the front seat. Jake leapt in too, bouncing across his master's lap and wiggled into the space behind the seat.

"Go," Bill groaned, dragging the door shut.

Laura floored it, sending the sleek car streaking down the sidewalk.

"Uuuuuuhh..." moaned Bill.

She spared him a quick glance but couldn't see his injuries clearly in the dark interior; she could only smell fresh blood. But he _sounded_ in terrible distress. "I'm taking you straight to a hospital!"

He quickly swiped his bleeding lips with his swollen tongue. "No, no...Please...Back on the road..."

She steered back onto the street and swerved around a corner. The roadster's low undercarriage struck a bump, sending them airborne. As they landed with a jolt, the glove box banged open, cracking Bill's knees, and spilling several small pocketbooks out onto his lap.

Bill stared at the sketches depicted on the covers: smoking guns, leggy women leaning over desks of men in dark suits, shadow outlines of sinister felons.

Laura squeaked in horror. Reaching over, she scooped them up, haphazardly shoving them back into the glove compartment before clipping it firmly closed.

"Please!" Bill found his voice. "Eyes on the road! Hands on the wheel!"

She returned her grip to the steering wheel, turning the car uphill.

"There's a hospital-"

"No hospital...Home.." he gasped. "I live off Mission. 281 Guerrero."

"All right, I'll take you home," said Laura with determination.

Bill's eyelids fluttered open when the vehicle finally came to a blissful halt.

"We're here," said Laura, opening her car door and hopping out.

They appeared to be in a warehouse full of automobiles.

"This isn't my place," Bill said thickly.

"I know," said Laura, opening his door and tugging on his arm. "It's mine."

Bill resisted. "I don't wanna impose-"

"You said no hospital. But at least let me clean you up."

Jake jumped over his master and stood waiting expectantly beside Laura.

"Okay," grumbled Bill. "I'll wash up." He thought of his boarding house and the washroom down the hall. His landlady would give him hell for getting it dirty.

He staggered after Laura through a door...And slammed to a stop. Jake ran into the back of his legs. They were in a vast marble-floored foyer. A curved staircase rose above, swirling around a massive crystal chandelier. The pale ivory plaster walls were inlaid with floral designs. It was sophisticated, not the sort of place for some old sailor to be leaving muddy footprints.

"Uh..." Bill mumbled, beginning to back out. She was a dish, but any moment he expected a belligerent husband to storm down the stairs demanding to know the meaning of all this.

Laura removed her hat and looked at him quizzically. Finally viewing her in full light, he could see she was within a decade of his age, despite wearing her russet hair long and loose as a young lady.

"Is your husband home?" he asked, craning his neck around.

She took his arm, leading him toward a bathroom. "I'm not married. And it's the servants' night off, so you don't need to worry about anyone seeing you like this."

He became _much more_ worried. They were alone in this mansion, and she wasn't married. Her well-intentioned but misguided concern was making her forget her reputation, so he must guard it for her.

In the large, white-tiled bathroom, she turned the taps on full blast. Glancing around, she finally put down the toilet's lid, blushing. "Er, why don't you have a seat, Bill?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your full name," said Bill, still standing.

She wet a washcloth. "Laura Roslin."

"Miss Roslin, I'll be fine. I should be going-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your last name either," she said.

"William Adams."

"Mr Adams, please don't be a ninny," she said firmly, closing the door behind him. She gently pushed him down to sit. "Let's take the coat off."

"I'm like an old dog. I'll just heal right up," he insisted, even as he allowed her to unbutton his coat and carefully peel it off him.

"They beat you soundly, Mr Adams."

"I did okay," he said stubbornly.

"Of course," she said soothingly, unbuttoning his shirt next.

He gulped, his addled head clearing suddenly. "Miss Roslin, I don't think-"

"Yes, Mr Adams?" She slid his shirt off, her brow furrowed in concern at his bruised arms. Next she pushed up his undershirt, revealing his purple-splotched chest. "Oh, dear! Bill!"

He was staring at the tumble of curls as she leaned over him. "Whaa?"

She shot him an agitated look. "I need to get some ice for these bruises."

He needed a big bag of ice all right, to place on his lap. He had to divert her before she noticed- "Miss Roslin, may I bother you for a drink?"

"Some water?" she asked, heading to the door.

Bill dabbed at his bleeding face with the washcloth. "Got something stronger?" he said with a strangled voice.

"Of course." She flashed him a tentative smile around the open door. "I'll be right back."

He leaned back on the wall, releasing a long breath. Hopefully, she would give him enough time to cool down.

...

Laura hurried to the lounge where she held most of her cocktail parties. Before the bar cart, she stared at the bottles, her thoughts in a whirl. No gentleman had ever made her feel this uncertain. She was always had the upper hand with men, and surely someone such as this sailor shouldn't unsettle her so.

She poured a glass of Scotch for Bill.

But he did unsettle her, even in his current state. Or perhaps because of it. She desperately wanted to care for him...Take him upstairs, slip him into her bed...After removing more of his clothing, of course.

She poured a second glass full, and although she was only a light social drinker, took a deep swig.

Where were these thoughts coming from? Laura did have discreet affairs with men, but men in her circle and always one who would depart with no hard feelings when she tired of him. She did not pick up strange men on the docks and bring them home to... Poor Bill was bleeding in her bathroom while she dithered!

After draining her glass, she whirled unsteadily and trotted toward the doorway, running straight into the object of her thoughts. He caught her, but the impact poured the drink down his front. He'd put his coat back on, and now it was soaked.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Where did you come from!?" babbled Laura, ineffectually dabbing at his coat with the handkerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve.

"I should be going," Bill said stubbornly.

Pulling him over to the couch, she pushed him down. "Look at that lump on your temple," she fussed. "Let me get some ice."

At the ice bucket, she wrapped some cubes in a napkin. While pouring Bill another drink, she eyed the second glass, but decided she'd had enough. As it was, she was definitely weaving on her way back to the couch.

Nestling down beside him, she carefully pressed the ice pack to his forehead. "How does that feel?" she murmured.

He stared at her mouth, mesmerized by her lower lip captured by her teeth, how they nibbled at the pink skin. He swallowed his Scotch in a few quick gulps and his head swam. Damn, she smelled good; not of any particular perfume, but like a _woman_.

"Great, that feels great," he finally garbled.

"I'm glad," she said, her voice shaking as she leaned closer.

With a jolt as sharp as the cold ice on his head, Bill realized the lady was expecting him to act; he hadn't been at sea that damn long not to able to read a signal. He cradled her cheek and her eyelids drifted shut, grateful. Their lips met-

"Ow," he groaned.

"I'm sorry!" Laura jumped back. "You poor man!"

"No, no." He inched closer to her, wincing with every move. "Just my split lip."

She held in a giggle. This really wasn't funny. But everything seemed funny right now. The room rippled like the image in a funhouse mirror. She forced herself to focus on his swollen lip beneath that bushy mustache and spotted a corner that was undamaged. She kissed it.

"That hurt?"

"No," he rasped.

Taking his face in her hands, she tilted his head until she found a spot on his cheekbone that seemed undamaged. "How about here?" Her lips pressed to the weathered skin.

"Nope." His hands settled on her hips, scooting her closer.

She traced down the strong tendon of his neck with her shaking thumb, then suckled at the hard edge, her teeth grasping tight at the warm skin and flesh. "Does that hurt?" she breathed.

"Yeah," noted Bill, then with daring, "Better try the mouth again."

Their lips where almost touching when a sharp voice barked behind them: "Miss Laura! What's goin' on here!?"

They leapt apart like two guilty teenagers. Laura jumped to her feet. "Elosha!" she said with both shame and reproach. "I'm assisting my guest-"

A short, sturdy dark-skinned woman, brightly colored from her purple turban to her emerald green caftan and down to her gold shoes, entered the room, her eyes examining the stranger on the sofa. Bill slowly rose to his feet, buttoning his coat as quickly as his pain-filled fingers could manage.

"Elosha, please come with me," Laura said stiffly, leading the other woman away before she could say anything to Bill.

Bill called Jake to his side; the dog had also earned a look from Elosha.

In the foyer, Laura began whispering furiously to Elosha, trying to explain the situation. Then she stopped. "What are you doing home so early anyway?"

"Apparently, I got home just in time," said Elosha, her eyebrows raising.

Laura tossed her head and turned her back on her old nanny. "I believe it's your bedtime, Elosha," she said as she stalked back to the lounge.

"Just so long as it's not yours," came from behind her.

But the room was empty, the french doors ajar, a cool night breeze wafting in. Laura sank back down to the sofa, her strength to stand suddenly gone.


	2. Chapter 2

At the foot of the hill below the massive Roslin mansion, Bill caught a cable car. He tucked Jake under the seat, hoping to hide him. The conductor looked the other way; he was on his last run anyway. At the end of the line, back down at the docks, Bill ducked into Red's Diner.

"Hey!" yelled the sad-faced fry cook behind the counter. "The dog."

"He's cleaner than I am," pointed out Bill. His face was swollen and turning several shades of yellow and purple. Scabs had formed on his lips. His coat reeked of booze.

"Let 'em stay," growled a mound of rags at the end of the counter that appeared to be a woman from the cluster of wax cherries on her hat.

The cook tossed up his hands. "What'll you have?"

Bill crawled up onto a stool wearily. "A cuppa Joe." Jake slunk under his master's feet.

Sipping from the heavy white cup, Bill nodded at the cook. "And a couple of eggs with some bacon. Sunnyside up."

The cook tossed a few strips of bacon on the grill and cracked the eggs.

"Say, you lived here long?" asked Bill as he lit a cigarette.

"All me life," said the cook, flipping the sizzling bacon.

"Know of a lady named Laura Roslin?"

The old woman at the end of the counter barked a laugh and the cook joined her.

"You bet," said the cook. "Everyone knows that dame. She owns half this town...Hell, half the state."

"She divorced or widowed?" Bill asked casually.

"No man's tied her down!" cackled the old woman. "That kinda dough, she doesn't need no man!"

"Yep. Her family died, leaving her with the buckets of money," said the cook, dropping the plate before Bill.

Breaking off a corner of the crisp bacon, Bill slipped it under the counter where it was lapped off his fingertips by a quick tongue.

Propping his cigarette in an ashtray, he motioned the cook closer. The man pushed his greasy cap back on his head and leaned over the counter.

"Does she go trolling down on the docks, looking for excitement?" he rumbled, low. "One of _those_ kinda rich dames?"

Unfortunately, the old woman heard him anyway. "Now, shut yo' mouth, ya big lug!" she bellowed. "That there is a real classy lady! She helps out everyone who needs it in this town-runs all sorts of charities. Not like most of those society types; she means it!"

Chastised, the cook turned back to his grill and began scraping it clean.

Puffing on his cigarette again, Bill mumbled an apology. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew they couldn't be true. But he'd never had anything like this happen to him before. There had to be some explanation.

He sipped his coffee, deep in thought. Laura Roslin cared for the downtrodden; that made sense. She had felt she had to pick him up and fix him, just like any other charity case.

~~AV~~

Mrs La Cruz, Adams' landlady, leaned against the doorjamb of his room, watching with avid eyes as he examined the package she had delivered.

"It came by boy. Not mail," she offered, shuffling her feet in their dirty pink satin mules and loosening her vividly patterned wrap so that a bit more of her slip's decolletage showed.

Bill averted his eyes from the woman's loose-swinging breasts. "Thanks, Mrs La Cruz. 'preciate it." There was no return address and only his name was written in bold black ink on the outside of the shirt box from an expensive menswear shop.

"Any time," she drawled, licking her bright red lips.

"Thanks," he repeated and closed the door slowly until she was forced to back away.

He undid the box's string and peeked inside. His faded denim shirt that he'd worn last night had been laundered and pressed. He pulled it out and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Retrieving the note and his glasses, he moved to his room's one lamp to read by the flickering, weak bulb.

Strong handwriting that matched the outside of the box read: _What was the hurry? You didn't seem like the sort to run from a fight._

There was no signature but he knew who it must be.

He crumpled the piece of paper and sank down on his creaky bed. The flip and flirty tone of the note returned him to the heated memories that had thwarted his attempts to sleep last night.

She'd attended to his wounds-not put off by the sign of blood in the least. The feel of her cool, delicate touch on his grizzled old body... He'd panicked. As she went to fetch ice and a drink, he'd thrown on his coat with the plan to hightail it out of that fancy mansion immediately, not even bothering to put this shirt back on. He'd told himself that he'd been away at sea too long. A lady like her wouldn't be accustomed to, or appreciate, a salty sailor leering at her in her own home.

But then he'd ran into her, literally. Before he knew it they were on the couch and things were getting heated. Her lips drifting across his skin... He could smell the whiskey on her breath. _That_ could explain the speed she was willing to throw away her reputation by kissing a strange man. From her maid's reaction, this didn't seem to be a common occurrence.

He smoothed out the note and read it again.

She was daring him to call. Taunting him even. Well, he wasn't going to be manipulated-

Damn it! He slammed out of his room and strode determinedly toward the pay phone at the end of the hallway. He'd never run away from anything in his life. He wasn't starting now.

~~AV~~

Laura frowned down at the report Tom Zarek, the Roslin Industries' General Manager, had just presented her with.

"Do we know how the fire started in the Burlingame factory?" she asked.

He shrugged. "There are quite a few tramps around the area." He handed her a contract. "I suggest you sign this, Miss Roslin. It's a submission from a local housing builder. They'll give us a good price for the land."

"A housing development?"

"Yes, I think we should snap up the offer. It may offset some of the losses we've incurred. Especially if you still insist on paying the factory workers a fortnight's severance pay each."

"Mmm." She flicked through the report again, ignoring Tom's comment regarding the wages. She had already had several arguments with him on the subject over the telephone. "How long do you estimate it will take to rebuild?"

"Rebuild?" Tom's tone became exasperated. "Miss Roslin, this is a solid proposal. We can quite easily move that division of production to one of our San Francisco factories. You just need to sign the contract, and I'll take care of all the details."

Laura removed her glasses, throwing them carelessly across her desk before squinting at her manager. "Mr Zarek, Roslin Industries employed approximately thirty percent of the entire town. It will collapse without our support. I'll expect you to calculate the costs involved and the time frame we're looking at to rebuild the factory by Thursday."

The phone rang on Emily's desk and she moved to answer it quietly.

Standing before her desk, Tom planted his fists on his hips. "As manager of Roslin Industries, I strongly advise you against-"

Laura cut him off mid-sentence. "I'm still the owner of Roslin Industries," she said, using a practiced authoritative voice. "If that it is all?" She pointedly threw aside the report and contract before picking up her glasses again, along with a pen. Feigning interest in a new piece of paperwork on her desk, she sent her manager and unspoken message-the matter was settled.

Emily shot Tom an irritated look before approaching the desk. "Miss Roslin, a Mr Bill Adams is calling."

Laura's head snapped up. "Oh! Oh, yes."

Emily and Tom both hovered in front of her desk, their expressions inquisitive.

She fumbled for a moment. "He's in...shipping," she finally said lamely.

"Shipping? Perhaps I should-" Tom offered to take the call, eager to get back into her good graces.

"No," she snapped too quickly. "No, thank you, Tom. I'll see you on Thursday." Her eyes pointedly looked to the door.

Zarek turned on the heel of his highly polished wingtip and stormed out, tossing a curt, "Good day," over his shoulder.

Sighing with relief, Laura eagerly snatched up the telephone. "Mr Adams," she greeted her caller.

"Miss Roslin."

She relaxed at the first sound of her sailor's seductive low-pitched voice coming down the line. If anything, it sounded even more alluring than it had last night. She removed her glasses once again, kicked her heels off beneath the desk and leaned back in her chair.

Her secretary primly sat down in front of her desk, stenopad and pencil at the ready.

"Emily!" Laura gasped. Regaining control, she made a shooing motion with her hand. "Emily, I won't need you to take notes."

Nodding, her secretary moved back to her own desk.

"I got your package," Bill said in her ear.

"Did you?"

No reply. Oh, he was going to play the strong silent type, was he?

The secretary began tapping on her typewriter, distracting Laura.

"Pardon me for a moment," she muttered into the phone, then, covered it with her hand. "Emily!" she barked.

Startled, the other woman jumped in her chair and her hands stilled on the typewriter's keys.

"Perhaps now would be a good time for you to take your lunch break," Laura suggested.

"Lunch?" Emily asked. She checked the wristwatch Laura had given her last Christmas. "It's only eleven o'clock, Miss Roslin," she pointed out, bewildered.

"Yes! Early lunch!"

Emily arched one eyebrow, looking from Laura's hand gripping the telephone to Laura's flushed face, and back again.

"Okay, as you wish."

At the door Emily glanced back. "I'll see you in half an hour?" She raised her voice, posing the statement as a question.

"Why don't we say an hour!"

Emily eyes widened. "Okay, we shouldn't let work get in the way," she noted flippantly.

As soon as Emily had closed the door of the office, Laura turned in her chair, twining the cord around her finger. "Now, Mr Adams, I expect you're calling to invite me out on a date," she said boldly.

Bill cleared his throat. "No. I mean...I wanted to thank you for taking care of me last night."

"Oh," said Laura, deflated. Mortification made her face flush even hotter. Thank God Emily had left!

Bill looked up and down the hall and leaned closer to the wall phone's mouthpiece, even though no one was about. "But, now that you mention it, I do owe you-"

"You don't owe me anything," she said stiffly.

"You cleaned me up-" He craned his neck. He could hear a clanking on the stairs on the landing below; his landlady was making her way up laboriously with a mop and bucket.

"You saved me from a vile attack," she said, yet her voice sounded ungrateful even to her.

"I'd do that for anyone!" Bill covered his eyes with his hand. This wasn't going well at all. She'd just shocked him, dammit-why would a dame like her would want to be seen out with a lug like him?

"I'm sure," she said coolly, giving him nothing. Perhaps she meant a date like taking him to a soup kitchen-

They both fell silent.

Finally, his raspy voice rumbled down her spine, making Laura shiver. "You weren't hurt yourself, were you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, touched. "Just a few bruises; nothing like yours." She started twisting the cord around her finger again. "How's your lip?"

"Healing up."

"Maybe you should have someone look at it," she suggested huskily.

Bill leaned against the wall, tracing a crack in the plaster with his fingertip. "Yeah."

Mrs La Cruz bumped him as she passed, knocking him upright, screeching her apology.

Laura caught his attention again. "Maybe I could..." Her voice trailed off suggestively.

"I understand you like to help people-"

Laura held the phone away from her head and stared at for a moment. He sounded so martyred; she truly couldn't guess his intentions.

Finally, she adopted a bored tone. "Listen, if you don't want to go out with me-"

He jumped right back in. "I didn't say that!"

She stood, leaning on her desk. "You just don't sound very interested, that's all."

"I am!"

"Okay." She twirled her pen on the highly polished mahogany. It got away, flying off the desk. She dove after it, the phone still pressed to her ear.

"Okay, fine!" bellowed Bill. "I'll pick ya' up tonight!" There was no way a social butterfly like Laura Roslin would be free and he'd be out of this-

"Fine!" She was breathless from straightening upright. "Seven o'clock?"

Now he was having difficulty breathing. "Sure. Seven o'clock. Your place," he said, unsure as to what had just happened.

"Bye," she said and quickly hung up before he could change his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Bill stood by the phone until the dial tone jerked him back. He hung the ear piece up on the hook, still lost in thought.

Mrs La Cruz leaned out of the washroom, the dirty mop propped by her foot. "Big date tonight?"

"I guess so," muttered Bill, heading back to his room before she could probe any more.

When his master entered the small room and locked the door behind him, Jake's head poked up out of the bedding expectantly. Bill had been busted up pretty good last night, and he'd slept in this morning instead of walking the dog.

"Okay, boy, just another minute and then we'll hit the street." He was still getting used to this dog ownership business.

Jake hopped down and waited by the door.

Bill knelt down and lifted the worn rug with its horribly garish pattern. Mrs La Cruz had claimed it was an authentic Persian rug when first showing him the room to rent, but Bill knew his Oriental carpets, and this sure wasn't one.

He tapped on one end of the loose floorboard he'd found the first night in residence. The other end obediently lifted up and he thrust his arm into a cavity to retrieve a small box. He opened it and peeled off one of the hundred dollar bills on a wad inside. After considering, he peeled off another bill just in case.

Replacing the box, floorboard and rug, he picked up the dog leash. Jake scrambled to his side, his fur coat quivering in excitement.

Bill petted Jake. "I feel the same way, boy." He snapped on the lead. "Let's go, Jake. We have a lot to do before seven o'clock."

~~AV~~

Moving stiffly, Bill tried to keep up with the dog as he scampered from tree to tree along Guerrero Street. He was barely able to dodge the old ladies in black sweeping the sidewalk. He nodded and murmured, "Buenos Dias."

He flipped a coin to the young newsboy standing before a saloon, folded the _Examiner_ under his arm and entered the watering hole's dark interior.

Eager to forge onwards, Jake reluctantly followed. Bill needed a stiff shot of espresso to clear his head and contemplate further the mess he'd got himself into by agreeing to a date with a high class swell like Laura.

He shuffled into a booth and signalled the waiter.

"Coffee, please."

"Can't ya read the sign?" the man said with a smirk. "We've kept it around from the bad old days."

Bill removed the wire rimmed spectacles from his suit jacket's pocket and squinted to read the sign above the mahogany bar: ' _No dogs or Mexicans.'_

"We're all Mexicans in here, right?" Bill asked. "So you should let my dog in too."

The waiter huffed a little, then shrugged. He returned a moment later with a small cup of espresso.

"Don't be all day about it. You'll give us a bad reputation."

Tweaking his thick mustache between his thumb and forefinger, Bill wondered if he'd be allowed into whatever fancy hotel's restaurant or dancing club he chose for tonight. Sometimes it was made clear that he wasn't welcome in an establishment.

Dancing clubs? His cracked ribs groaned in protest at the thought. He'd invited Miss Roslin out on a date, but no one had mentioned dancing. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and his injuries were taking their toll on his tired old body. He hoped he'd be able to keep up with Laura Roslin tonight. Something in her attitude made him think she was a real dynamo.

Bill shook the newspaper out and began to read; concentrating on the latest from Europe and their struggles against this Hitler fellow; the suicide of a Chinese shopkeeper; gangsters from Los Angeles rumored to be in town - anything but that woman and the way she'd filled his senses in the few brief moments he'd been alone with her.

Yeah, dancing would be agreeable. Her body sliding against his as they swayed together on the dance floor. One of her legs slipping its way between his; one of his legs forcing its way between hers...His hands settling on the swell of her buttocks... The way her soft curves would nestle snugly against his chest...

He took a gulp of the lukewarm espresso, savoring its bitterness to shake him out of this mooning over a dame like a schoolboy. He needed to think like he was readying for a military engagement. He'd show up fully armed; a gift, flowers, reservations at the swellest joint in town...Chocolates would seem trite; she probably had a larder full of fine Belgium truffles. He'd get flowers later, not forgetting a boutonniere for himself. He'd probably have to toss some bread around to get a reservation on the day for a good table...

But that damn gift...

A glass falling from the bartender's hand startled him into turning the page. He flicked over to the section he'd never bothered reading in his entire life, the social column, and stared slack-jawed. It was _her._ The newspaper photographer had snapped her coming out of some new night club. She was smiling up at her companion; he was holding her arm proprietorially.

Bill squeezed the bridge of his nose where his glasses rubbed. He opened his eyes and read the blurb under the photo: _Leading socialite, Laura Roslin, accompanied by her sometime companion Wallace Gray, rising political star._

Irrationally furious at whoever that guy was, his gaze went to the bottom of the column. His mood immediately brightened. He'd found his gift.

Dropping two bits on the scarred tabletop, he slid out of the booth. "Come on, Jake," he called, heading to the door.

The waiter swooped in to clear his cup and curious, read the newspaper column.

 _Raymond Chandler to Sign Copies of Best Seller Today_

 _~~AV~~_

Laura studied a dress from her dressing room's wardrobe. The sunny yellow dress, with its buttons down the bodice and a belt to clinch her waist in tight, wasn't what she had in mind for her evening engagement. Laura held it up against her and peered into the reflection in the mirror. No, it looked like something she'd wear out for tea with Aunt Katherine.

She threw it carelessly toward the back of a chair. It missed, sliding to the floor to join the steadily growing pile of discarded outfits.

Laura thrust across hangers impatiently, dismissing all her day clothes, until she came upon a dress she'd bought to wear at a new club's opening last month. She held it up against her, thinking it suited her coloring. Then she recalled the newspaper reports the next morning; they'd said she'd offended the good Christians of the community with it.

She threw it aside. She didn't want to appear too easy.

"Miss Laura!" Elosha stood in the doorway, her dark eyes round at the tangle of clothes strewn across the floor.

"Oh good, you're here," Laura said carelessly.

Elosha began picking up the discarded choices and returning them to their hangers.

"I need help in choosing an gown. I want something casual, but dressy. Something not too ostentatious, but not cheap either. I have no idea where we'll be going. A chop joint down on Turk Street perhaps."

Her confident tone ebbed. She fiddled with the pearl buttons on the deep blue cocktail dress in her grasp. "I don't want him to feel uncomfortable. I really have no idea what he can afford, and I'm sure he won't want me to pay."

Shaking out a pale pink frock, Elosha raised her eyebrows. "That roughneck from last night?"

Laura pursed her mouth.

"You sure he's not gonna want you to pay?"

"Yes, Elosha." There was a warning in her voice, and Laura's eyes flashed.

Elosha paused in hanging up another fine dress and looked closely at her charge. "Good," she said finally.

"Do you know of any place in the neighborhood where we might go...Not expensive..."

Fretful, she yanked out another garment, rolled her eyes and tossed it aside without even bothering to hold it up to her in the mirror.

Elosha caught it nimbly, and shook her head. "I'm not welcome at a lot of places close by, Miss Laura."

Laura stopped her frantic search. "No one is rude to you, are they?"

"Not rude. Just obvious." Elosha's hands flipped through a rack of evening dresses. "But your man seems like the sort who'll figure something out. He got into this house, didn't he?"

Laura hummed.

The older woman pulled out a gown. "This one," she said definitely.

Smiling, Laura took it from her. "Perfect, Elosha."

~~AV~~

"God, it's great to see ya, Bill!" The little man perched on a bar stool next to Adams slapped his old friend's broad back.

"Glad to see you too, Ray." Bill signaled for a beer.

"How long has it been?"

"Long enough for to you to make it," Bill said warmly. "A book! You wrote a damn book." He shook his head as he lit a cigarette.

Raymond Chandler blinked behind his round glasses. "I had to find something to do. Washed out of everything else."

Bill chuckled. He and Ray had grown up in the same Los Angeles neighborhood. Ray had been a runt and a bit odd for the other kids, yet Bill had enjoyed his company. The little tag-along brother his parents had never provided him with. Years later, they'd run into each other while on leave in London during the war. William Adams had come as close as he ever would to a court martial when the young pilot decided to 'borrow' a plane and teach his old friend how to fly. Pretty embarrassing for a decorated Naval captain!

Laughing aloud, Bill drained his glass. "You always had a good imagination."

"The writing bit's fun, it's all this..." Chandler flapped his hand discontentedly, then turned it into beckoning the bartender over again. "Rye. Straight."

Tapping the bar impatiently as he waited for his drink, Chandler shook his head. "Book signings! Asking old ladies how to spell their granddaughter's name!"

Bill grubbed out his cigarette and cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Say, speakin' of which, Ray-" He removed an edition of _The Big Sleep_ from the bookstore's sack.

Chandler fumbled for a pen. "For you? Or course! Better than any old lady!"

"Uh..." Bill flushed. "It's for a lady."

Unscrewing the pen's cap, Chandler flipped the pages to the title page. "Your wife?"

"Nope," Bill said shortly.

Chandler took a long sip off his glass. "Sure, so this dame's name?"

"The lady's name is Laura."

Chandler grinned. "A lady." He nodded "Suits you, Adams. You always had the touch of the purple about you."

"Shut up and sign it," grumbled Bill.

~~AV~~

After managing to escape his old friend with only one more beer under his belt, Bill caught a cable car toward Market Street. He'd noticed some large flower stands along the wide boulevard, and his experience was that flower vendors knew all the best places in town.

Jake knew the drill by now and burrowed behind his master's legs under the seat. By the time the conductor noticed and complained, they were hopping off.

Bill perused a bright and colorful display at a flower stall.

"May I help you, sir?" asked a dapper man behind the counter. He fussed with the orchids in cellophane boxes while he waited for Bill to reply.

"I'd like two dozen red roses, please," Bill said. "And a matching boutonniere."

The vendor peeked over his display at Jake. "And one for the other gentleman?"

Bill shook his head, chuckling. "He's staying at home this time!"

As he waited, Bill asked: "Say, where's a classy place for dinner? Best place in town?"

"What are you going for?" asked the flower seller, wrapping thick paper around the roses.

"First date. She's a top rate lady. Used to all the finest things-"

"In that case," said the seller, tossing the roses aside and opening a back case to take out a vase of full, lush roses a deep, almost black shade of red, "I'd say the Garden Court at the Palace Hotel."

"Close by?" asked Bill.

"A couple blocks toward the wharf." The vendor wrapped the new roses up, then snipped a single bloom off and wrapped the stem up for a boutonniere.

"Then I'll go make a reservation."

The other man snorted. "Good luck with that." He gave Bill his change.

"Money talks in this town, doesn't it?" Bill said. He wrote down Laura's address for the delivery of the bouquet.

The vendor's eyebrows rose when he read it. "It most certainly does, _sir_." He leaned forward, looking Bill over frankly.

Snatching up his boutonniere, Bill turned on his heel and stormed off.

~~AV~~

Freshly bathed and shaved, Bill stood at his tiny closet and examined his two suits. The brown was out; too casual. The blue it was. He pulled it out and carefully draped it over the iron bedstand's footboard.

Jake watched from the foot of the bed.

"You're gonna have to stay here," Bill told the dog as he sat on the one rickety chair and began polishing his shoes, taking puffs from a cigarette between swipes with his shoe brush. He could always stop at a shoeshine stand, but why waste the quarter? He's already paid to have a shirt pressed at the corner Chinese laundry that he could have done himself, but something made him uncomfortable about asking Mrs La Cruz for an iron.

He dressed quickly; years in the service and merchant marine had given him the gift. After knotting his somber dark green tie, he checked himself in the small mirror. He combed oil through his hair, controlling the waves. He was still uncomfortable in civilian dress and was out of tune with the latest styles. Well, if this Laura Roslin didn't like what she saw, she'd let him know, he was sure.

His bare upper lip appeared odd to him. He'd shaved off his mustache, knowing heavy mustaches weren't the thing. He'd tried making a skinnier mustache like Gable, but had not liked the result and had cleaned his lip off. To reveal more bruises.

He slipped his red rose boutonniere into his buttonhole.

"Gilding the lily," he grumbled, turning away from the still bruised face in the mirror. Would she look past that beat-up mug to see the man?

Sighing, he patted his dog, put on his overcoat and Fedora hat, and picked up his wrapped gift.

"Here goes nothin'" he announced and stalked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Telling his cab to wait, Bill pulled his hat's brim down grimly, slid the wrapped book into his overcoat pocket and mounted the grand curved steps up to front door of the Roslin mansion. He hadn't gotten a really good look as he'd hurried away the night before, but now he could see the single house covered an entire city block. Arched windows lined the limestone walls, all lit brightly and sheathed with draped ivory curtains.

He shook his head. All this for one woman?

He rang the bell, listening to its grand tones echoing in that vast foyer behind the massive oak door.

The door instantly opened as though the black-suited butler had been lurking behind it.

"Good evening," the older gentleman said as he bowed at the waist.

"Howya doin'?" Bill tried to peer around the taller man's shoulder. "I'm here for Miss Roslin."

"Of course, sir." The butler showed no emotion on his long face. "Please come this way," he said, stepping back to allow Bill to enter.

"If you will wait here, sir." He began a ponderous walk across the foyer. "I shall see if Miss Roslin is available."

Available? He had a damn date, fumed Bill. He pushed his hat back on his head and prepared to cool his heels. He should have made that reservation for classy dame time.

Before the butler could reach the lounge door, it flung open and Laura strode through.

A slow grin came over Bill's face as she sashayed toward him. Her gown of heavy dull satin flowed down her body, covering everything necessary, but also clinging to all the right places. The milky jade color made her eyes turn sparkling green and her russet curls deepen to red. He silently whistled at the display of diamonds and emeralds clustered at her throat and wrists. And he'd bought her a damn book!

The butler moved at a much nimbler pace to keep up with his mistress. He snatched up a silver fox cloak draped over the stairs' newel post and advanced after her with it outstretched. He dropped it onto her shoulders without Laura appearing to notice.

She was beaming at Bill as she tugged up her long gloves to her elbows. "Good evening, Mr Adams," she said formally.

He snatched his hat off. "Good evening, _Miss_ Roslin."

Tilting her head, she gave him a wicked smile. "Shall we go?" she suggested, her eyes teasing.

"Yeah, can't be late," he replied, pulling his pocket watch from his pants' pocket to check the time.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Everyone waited for Laura Roslin. Nonetheless, she gave him another smile and glided toward the door.

"Oh, maybe we better leave this here," said Bill, removing the wrapped gift from his pocket.

She accepted it, her smile warm again. "Shall I open it now?"

"Nah, it can wait," he said, embarrassed at his inadequate offering. He should have dumped it in the trash can while her back was turned.

She lay the gift on the foyer table as she gave her reflection one more quick glance in the mirror hanging over it. "Yes," she drawled. "I'll open it after dinner, when you see me home."

"Sure," he said, a tad bit breathless. He tugged his hat back on. "So let's get to it." His hand settled in the small of her back and he gently herded her through the door. Before Bill could pull it shut, the butler closed it behind them.

As they went down the stoop to the waiting cab, Bill asked: "Do you get used to that?"

"What?" Laura said as he opened the cab's door for her.

"People doing stuff before you ask."

She settled on the cushions, wrapping her cloak around her legs. Puzzled, she swept her hair back and looked at him. "I'm very grateful for everything done for me," she said carefully.

"I'm sure you are," he said, shaking his head in wonder. He leaned forward and gave the driver the restaurant's name.

"Lovely," Laura said, enthusiastic. "I adore the Oysters Casino there." Her expression suddenly became worried. She shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "Although I'm not particularly hungry this evening. I'll have something light."

Bill opened his cigarette case and offered her one. She shook her head. "Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked, hesitating.

"Oh, go ahead. I don't mind." She gave a quick smile. "I only smoke when I'm nervous."

"I'll remember that." He tapped his cigarette on the brass case before putting it in his mouth and lighting it with his steel-cased Zippo lighter.

"You don't make me nervous," she said, her voice as enigmatic as the blue smoke wafting between them in the dark.

He leaned back on the seat and smiled over at her. "I'm glad." He flicked ash out the crack of the window. "And you can have whatever you want for dinner; don't worry about the cost."

"Really, I wasn't-"

"Don't worry about it," he repeated. "I can cover it."

"Bill, I wasn't-" She quickly reached out to squeeze his hand in the dark and saw him wince from the pressure. "I'm sorry," she said, hoping that would cover all sorts of pain.

"I'm all right," he assured her. "Looks worse than it hurts."

He glanced at his reflection in the window. "We should have waited a few days. Won't do for Laura Roslin to be seen with the likes of this!"

"What do you know about Laura Roslin?" she asked, her tone light but her heart sinking. She did so tire of everyone thinking they knew her from gossip and newspaper clippings.

He glanced over. "You're beautiful."

Her gaze dropped but her gloved thumb lightly rubbed the back of his strong hand, seeking out the hard tendons and tough bones. "Thank you," she murmured.

"No, thank you," he replied and she heard the laughter in his voice.

She raised her chin in defiance. "You have the advantage, Mr Adams. All I know about you is that you're brave, strong, handsome-"

He chuffed.

"Handsome...Without your mustache," she added. "It made you appear the desperado," she said honestly.

"You don't need to worry," he said coolly, "I'm no Joanquin Murrieta."

"I didn't think you were." She shrank back against the cushions. The way his eyes glowed from under his hat's rim in the darkness, it was easy to imagine him as that Mexican Robin Hood, robbing rich Anglos. Particularly when his teeth flashed like that, part dashing, part threatening.

"So what are you then?" she said as strongly as she could.

"I am of Mexican heritage."

"Oh! That wasn't what I meant. I meant, I assume you're a sailor of some sort."

Disconcerted that she seemed to be disregarding his background, Bill regrouped.

"I was." He tossed his cigarette out the window and cranked it closed. "I was a captain of freighters for the Occidental Line until last week."

"Then what happened?"

"It was strongly recommended that I retire. Too old," he grumbled.

"Old?" She peered at him. "How old are you?"

He burst out laughing. "Old enough," he replied, neatly sidestepping.

"Will you get another ship?"

"I'm thinking about it. But I've got a packet saved up for my retirement, so I thought I'd look around a bit. See if something attracts me."

Those blue eyes were glowing at her again. She realized she was still holding his hand. She slipped her fingers free.

"What sort of things are you looking at?" she asked, her voice strangled.

"Chickens."

"Chickens?"

"My uncle had a farm on what used to be the family's ranchero. I spent summers there as a boy, helping out. I hear there's good chicken country up north from here in Petaluma."

"How dull," she said with a sigh. "And all those feathers."

"Now see here, chickens are a perfectly honorable animals-"

"I'm sure," she said airily, making him feel old and staid. "Just not how I see you, that's all."

"How do you see me?"

The cab pulled up to the curb before the Palace Hotel. A doorman advanced to open the door. Bill slid out, still wanting his answer.

Before Laura stepped out of the cab, she leaned over and grinned up at him. "I see a man who's looking for his next adventure, Mr Adams." Then she accepted the doorman's hand, rising from the cab as though stepping from a seashell carried to shore on a wave, rather than exiting a yellow cab into blaring traffic.

Bill waited to offer her his arm. "Perhaps I am that desperado after all, Miss Roslin," he murmured in her ear as they entered the hotel's grand foyer.

After checking his hat and coat, and Laura's cloak, Bill and Laura advanced on the maitre d' stand in the opulent Garden Court restaurant.

The tall man, glistened from the top of his oiled hair down his brightly shined shoes, looked down his nose at Bill, opening his mouth to begin his excuses-then he spotted Laura.

"Miss Roslin!" he gushed, moving forward.

Bill stepped in front of her. "Table for two. The reservation is under Adams."

The maitre d' didn't bother to check his reservation book. "Of course, sir." Snapping his fingers, he summoned a waiter.

As they weaved through the tables, Bill wasn't sure where to look. High above the large dining room full of white-tableclothed tables was a colorful stained glass dome. The walls of cream plaster and gold painted scrollwork circled the room. And then there were the eyes, dozens of them, speculative, even openly shocked gazes, watching their progress. Bill finally chose to watch the sway of Laura's hips in front of him.

Once at their table, Bill's hands landed on the back of a chair that he intended to hold out for Laura at the exact same time as the waiter. Bill glared at the young man until he backed away.

"We'll have a bottle of your finest champagne," he told the waiter before he settled down opposite Laura.

She was nodding and giving a brief wave to several fellow patrons.

Feeling their stares, he picked up the menu and studied it for a moment. There were no prices. Money was no object to these type of folk.

The waiter arrived back at the table, placing a silver bucket onto a stand near Laura with a bottle of champagne embedded in ice.

"The champagne," announced the waiter.

"Oh, none for me, thanks," Laura said breezily, still absentmindedly smiling at other diners. "I don't like champagne. I'll have a martini please."

"Sir?"

Bill gave the waiter a curt shake of head, indicating the champagne could be returned. He assumed that considering the bottle was already opened, he'd still have to pay for it. "I'll join the lady in a martini as well," he groused.

Laura turned back to Bill, examining him under the glow of hundreds of bulbs on the dozens of chandeliers. He was neat, tidy and crisp; despite wearing a suit and tie, the set of his wide shoulders made it seem as though he was wearing a naval uniform rather than a blue serge suit. Yet his alert stance was coupled with an innate comfort. He was not cowed by his surroundings.

His upper lip was a shade paler than his skin, and his bruises mottled his usually olive skin. She'd be happy to examine his features more closely once the damage had healed-with a start, she realized she expected him to be around for quite a length of time.

His gaze flicked up and he peered at her over top of his glasses. "What would you like?" he asked.

She flushed at being caught staring. "You choose," she said, affecting a sweet tone.

He squinted. She smiled back. The waiter appeared at Bill's elbow.

"The champagne," Bill reminded her. He'd already got this ordering thing wrong once.

She flicked her hand about, granting him permission. "All the food here is superb."

Balancing his glasses on his nose, he scanned the options quickly again. Laura now sat with her hands folded on her lap, waiting.

"The lady will have Oysters Casino, the Waldorf Salad, and the Sole Almondine. I'll have the oysters as well, the cheese plate, and the sea bass."

Bill nodded at Laura. "And we'll have a chardonnay. Have the wine steward select something suitable."

After giving a shimmy with his neat hips, the waiter murmured his approval, collected his menus and disappeared.

Bill pulled out a cigarette from his case, tapping one end of it irritably on the table. "Did I pass your test?"

He held the open case out in her direction. She delicately extracted a cigarette.

"Test?" she asked, leaning her elbow on the table and rolling the cigarette between her fingers while he removed his lighter from his pocket.

"The food order was to your liking?"

The waiter arrived back at their table, depositing their cocktails with a flourish. They both paused mid-conversation until he was once again out of earshot.

She shrugged. "I've noticed men usually prefer to choose these things."

He flicked his lighter and they leaned forward in unison, her hands wrapping around his to ensure the flame didn't blow out. "And you usually let men make decisions for you?" he rumbled.

"Rarely," she admitted, dropping his hand and leaning back again. "If ever. But there are always exceptions to every rule," she murmured before taking a deep drag of her cigarette.

He lit his own cigarette, deciding she wasn't the only one who smoked when nervous.

Laura sipped daintily from her martini. "Are you married, Bill?"

He choked on his smoke. "What the hell?" He peered at her suspiciously. "Why would I be out with you if I were married?"

She shrugged, nonchalant.

"I'm not that sorta fella," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry. I just assumed, with your ring..."

Bill stared down at his left hand as though he'd never seen the gold band on his finger, despite the fact it had been there all along.

She thanked the waiter as he set the oysters before her and poured her a glass of wine.

Bill waited until he was served as well, then set his jaw with determination. "I'm a widower."

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice softer.

"It's been years," he said, "but I take marriage seriously."

Feeling the need to hurry on, she asked, "Children?"

"Two sons."

"You must be so proud of them."

"Both went into the Navy," he said, his grin showing that pride.

"Had you followed in your father's footsteps too?"

His expression soured. "No, my father was furious. He expected me to become an attorney like him."

She looked surprised.

"You didn't know Mexicans could be lawyers?" He raised his eyebrows.

She blushed. "It's not that-"

"It helped my father's career to have the Anglo name, but I got Jedediah Adams' love of the sea. I ran away to join the Navy at sixteen."

Laughing, she nodded to the waiter to remove her oyster's plate. "Jedediah?"

"Yankee sea captain who swooped in and stole the heart of the lovely senorita from the ranchero. Her father was as angry as mine." Bill popped his last oyster in his mouth and leaned back so the hovering waiter could glide in and remove his plate.

Sipping his wine, Bill looked her over slowly. "And what about you? Never married, no children-"

"You know all about me already," she said tartly. "I have nothing to add."

Choosing not to reply, he watched her instead. Rather than angry, she seemed relieved. A woman whose life played out every day in the newspaper didn't want to tell him about her past. He found that interesting-no, he found her fascinating. He'd known what to expect for too many years. It was time to live on the edge.

"Laura! Darling!" screeched a voice behind Bill. He craned his neck to look at a woman with a face like an old fence; whitewashed with face paint, flat-featured and two black knotholes for eyes. Her yellow curls jiggled obscenely atop the monstrosity of a face.

Plastering a social smile on after shooting Bill a quick sincere one, Laura greeted her friend. "Susan, how lovely to see you," she said blandly.

Lowering his head, Bill began to eat through his cheese plate. He needed to cleanse his palate all right.

Susan spoke to Laura but stared at Bill openly as though she were at the zoo.

Finally, Laura relented. "Susan Donnelly, may I introduce my friend, William Adams."

Bill stood and took two fingers of the extended hand and bowed over it. "Charmed," he rasped.

"Oh, Laura! Is this something to do with one of your charities?" squealed Susan.

Sinking back to his seat, Bill made a careful exercise out of laying his napkin across his lap.

"Bill's only just arrived in San Francisco," Laura said. "He's in shipping." The lie about Bill's occupation fell easily from her lips for the second time.

He shot her a puzzled look under his heavy brow, then his mouth set in a strong line.

She gave a brief shake of her head, trying to convey that she was only trying to protect him, but she could see the damage was done. This was going simply awful.

"Have you been mugged, sir?" queried Susan, her large feet planted firmly by their table, showing she had no plans to move along. "The docks can be so rough. Your face-"

Bill's gaze slowly rose and traveled over the woman's features. For one terrifying, yet glorious moment, Laura thought he was going to mention Susan's features, for which there were no healing.

"I fell," he said, then cut a small piece of cheddar and ate it, chewing slowly.

Laura clasped her shaking hands tightly. "Susan, your table is ready."

Susan swiveled her shark head around to look at the maitre d'. "No, it's not," she insisted.

"Yes, it is," Laura said sharply.

Susan finally seemed to appreciate the threatening tone in Laura's voice.

"Oh, of course dearest, it is."

Bill watched Laura's friend go, his heart sinking. Although Susan's insults were obvious, he would usually think little of them. It was Laura's prevarications to explain away his appearance that hurt much more. He was evidently embarrassing her.

He noticed nearly every man in the room was in black tie, some in white tie, and tails. There wasn't a blue suit in the group. Hunching his back, he finished off his course.

The waiter arrived with their main courses, then each tried to restart the conversation with little success.

"How's the sole?" asked Bill.

"Lovely. The bass?"

"Pretty good. You're right. The food's good here."

"Yes, it's one of my favorite places to eat."

"I can see why. It's awfully swell."

Actually, Bill found it too large, too bright, and the band dull.

Desperate, Laura tried again: "With all your travels, I'm sure you've eaten at some nice places."

He shrugged. "Beans and toast are the same the world over."

Despite his protestation, she noticed he knew which fork to use with his fish. She started to tease him about that, but something about the set of his mouth stopped her. He was shoving his food in as though it was beans on toast; he wanted to leave.

Laura's fork pushed at her fish with little enthusiasm. Each mouthful of the white flaky flesh rolled around her mouth, tasting no more appetizing than a forkful of flour would. In the end, she gave up any attempt to finish the meal, placing her cutlery and napkin onto her plate to hide the evidence of her wastage.

Bill on the other hand, cleaned his plate off in record time. He would have no idea if it tasted like fish or flour.

Laura was for once thankful of the over-eager waiter when he swooped in and removed their plates immediately. He also saved them from another awkward silence by offering desserts and liqueurs.

They both refused.

Bill silently offered her another cigarette from his case. She accepted one, but quickly slipped her own lighter out of her clutch purse to use.

Blowing the smoke over her shoulder, Laura dispassionately watched the few patrons who'd braved the dance floor. Should she suggest they dance? Maybe they would forget their differences if their bodies were doing the talking.

She turned to Bill, only to see him flicking his fingers in the air, gaining the attention of the waiter. "Check, please," he said.

The maitre d' appeared. His gaze shifted between Laura and Bill. "Will this be on your account, Miss Roslin?"

Reaching for his wallet, Bill ground out, "Bring me the check."

With in a flick of his tails, the maitre d' hurried off.

"He didn't mean any offense," Laura said.

"Do your other dates let you pay?" Bill thought of the smooth-faced Wallace Gray from the society photograph.

She didn't like the inference she heard in his tone. "It really doesn't matter, Bill," she said sullenly. "It only seems to matter to you."

He slapped a hundred dollar bill down on the silver tray that had been laid beside him. Glancing at the ticket, he tossed another fifty atop that. "You better believe it matters to me," he ground out. Pushing his chair back with a scraping sound, he motioned at her. "We're ready."

"We are," she hissed, standing so abruptly that the waiter could barely make it in time to help with her chair.

Collecting their coats, they were each lost in their own brooding thoughts when they came through the door, and thus didn't notice the news photographers until it was too late.

The flash of bulbs caught their shocked expressions.

"Son of a bitch," growled Bill, pushing through the gabbling reporters to ask the doorman for a cab.

The cab pulled up to the Roslin mansion. Even as she asked, "Will you come in?" Laura knew what Bill's answer would be. They had traveled in complete silence from the hotel.

"I'm still pretty tired," he said weakly.

"Of course." She yanked at her door handle. He leapt out, betraying any exhaustion, and hurried around the cab to hold her door open and offer his hand.

She wanted to slap it away, but knew with the way things had gone this evening, she would probably trip on her skirt and fall on her face. But she touched him only as long as she must to stand on the curb.

"Well-" she said.

"Well-" He glanced up and down the street. "I'll watch you go in," he offered helpfully.

"It's not necessary," she said coldly.

"I still want to see you in safely. Perhaps you were targeted last night."

She rolled her eyes, tossed her head and flounced to the stoop.

"Good night, Laura," he said quietly behind her.

"Goodbye, Mr Adams." She didn't bother to look over her shoulder.

Old Jaffee swept open the front door, ready to take his mistress' cloak and her guest's coat and hat. When only Laura stomped past him, a visible emotion-surprise-actually registered on his face. He could not imagine any man, particularly some sailing gentleman, refusing to join his lady for after dinner drinks.

Unsure, he quickly plucked Laura's cloak off. "Ma'am, there's brandy in the conservatory-"

"I'll be going right up to bed, Jaffee," she barked, storming toward the stairs. She spotted Bill's gift on the foyer table. Snatching it up, she lifted it as though to hurl it but sensed Jaffee hovering. Shoving it under her arm, she lifted her skirt and hurried up the stairs.

The reverberation of her bedroom door slamming was followed closely by the faint tinkle of a shattering object-Jaffee decided it was the Dresden shepherdess that had stood on her vanity table; she'd never liked it. Shaking his head slowly, he made his way to the servants' quarters, grateful to have no greater concern than not scalding the milk for his evening's Ovaltine.

~~AV~~

Bill dismissed his cab at the foot of the hill. No sense paying any more on this disaster of an evening. He could always catch the night bus up Van Ness later and walk the rest of the way home. He needed to clear his head.

Lighting a cigarette, he strolled away from the fine palaces of Nob Hill. His shadow was long and narrow, a knife cutting through the swirling fog.

He trudged on, block after block, not bothering with the bus, replaying every wrong word and missed opportunity in the evening. Nearly at his boarding house, he spotted an open bar. He'd been thinking too much; it was time to do some forgetting. Before entering, he tugged off his wilted rose boutonniere and tossed it in the gutter.


	5. Chapter 5

Bill thumped up the stairs of the boarding house, then froze, remembering where he was. Waking Mrs La Cruz at this time of the night was probably not the best idea.

He gripped the banister to steady himself. After a few deep breaths, he began to stagger up the stairs again, his sweaty palm peeling flaky paint as it slid along the handrail.

Jake was waiting for him as soon as he opened the door, instantly showing Bill his new trick that involved chasing his tail. The floor spun slightly when Bill bent down to greet him.

Closing the door plunged the room into darkness, momentarily disconcerting Bill. Then he was suddenly very tired. He thought seriously about simply flopping down onto the bed, fully clothed.

Sighing, he ran his tongue around his mouth. He would have to at least brush his teeth, or face the consequences of waking up in the morning feeling like he'd swallowed a rat.

Shuffling blindly, he eventually knocked his forehead on the string hanging down from the light above the sink and switched on its flickering bulb. His eyelids began to twitch in time with the filament's shimmy.

After carefully squeezing paste onto his brush, he stood staring down into the chipped basin as he scrubbed vigorously at his teeth. He kept focused on the brown ring around the plug hole that refused to budge, even after he'd scoured the spot several times since moving in. He spat - once, twice, three times - but still couldn't get the bad taste out of his mouth from his earlier behavior. He finally looked up and studied his reflection in the mirror. Why the hell had she agreed to go out with him in the first place?

He stripped down and threw his clothes in the corner. He thought about trekking down the hall to the shower, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. He'd put aside his personal hygiene to avoid Mrs La Cruz coming to investigate the pipes running in the middle of the night. Instead he grabbed a face cloth and ran it under the faucet, using it to pat down the body parts most affected by perspiration.

Bed...It sounded like bliss.

Tugging the string again, he wobbled over in the dark toward the bed. He tripped over a stack of books he'd obtained while purchasing Laura's gift and they clattered to the floor, loud as bricks tumbling inside his skull. Groaning, he drew back the dusty drapes that covered the room's one small window. The red neon sign on the building across the street throbbed, etching crazy patterns on his bed. Crazy, woman-shaped patterns...He froze again, staring disbelievingly.

 _She_ was propped up against his pillow, still wearing the jade-colored gown she'd worn earlier. Only now one of its thin straps was hanging loosely off her shoulder, tantalizing him with a provocative expanse of creamy white flesh.

"How'd you get in?" he asked. He swivelled his head toward Jake. The dog stood, but then merely turned to adjust his position in his new basket, lowering himself again with a small whimper. "So much for the guard dog."

She tilted her head to one side, then smiled. "I didn't like how things ended." Her fingers brushed across her decolletage until they reached the gown's other strap, dragging it down slowly so that her shoulders were completely bare. "Did you?"

He gulped and shook his head. He approached the bed, lowering himself onto its edge. He reached out but then paused, his hands hovered above her now heaving breasts. The bed seemed to tilt to and fro, like a vessel on a rolling sea. He was afraid he'd topple over like a broken mast in a storm if he tried to touch her.

Uncoiling, she sat up and moved closer, her green-gray eyes holding his gaze the entire time. "You know what we want, don't you, Bill?"

He felt goose pimples break out across his skin as she leaned even closer, her tongue teasingly flicking his ear lobe. Closing his eyes, he felt her hot breath on his cheek. He could tilt his head ever so slightly and they'd be kissing, passionately and desperately.

He opened his eyes again and she raised one eyebrow, challenging him.

He was on her like a leaping cat, a snarl in the back of his throat. Her answer was a giggle as he dove into the cloud of her curls, finding her mouth, her neck, her jawline to bite and suckle.

His hips twisted, grinding down against her pelvis. She answered by arching herself up to meet his urgent thrusts.

Not close enough, not enough skin on his naked skin - he snatched at her gown, finding the hem and wrenching it up and off, so she lay panting next to him only in her underwear.

"I want to touch you," he rumbled.

"Like this, sailor?" One hand lifted the weight of her breast on her palm, her thumb rhythmically running over her nipple. Her other hand travelled down to skim along the lacy edge of her panties, playfully dancing across their gusset once in a while.

He watched, spellbound, taking his rock hard erection in hand. He moaned, drawing it down from where it pressed firmly against his lower stomach.

She whimpered. Then she whined. Then she yelped.

Bill woke in fright, jerking as if shocked, and stared straight into Jake's reproachful dark-brown eyes.

He looked down. He was gripping himself.

He dropped back down onto his pillow, frustrated. His head was thumping worse than it had been after the thugs on the docks had beaten him.

The dog whined at the back of his throat again and moved to uncomfortably pace near the door.

Dawn had crept in through the window. He should take Jake for a walk. But he had an immediate problem that wasn't going away, no matter how much he tried to visualize what Susan Donnelly must look like naked. Her body kept morphing, becoming lithe, with freckle-kissed shoulders...

He lay back on the lumpy mattress and pushed his blanket out of the way.

Were her breasts freckled too? He decided they were. And just the right size to fit in his palms. He could feel their slippery, rigid nipples on his tongue as his head dipped from one to the other...Then his mouth slid down her body, over the swell of her belly, lower, to settle between her legs.

He loved the scent of a woman, but he knew Laura would have her own unique one. He conjured up a weak substitution and sank into the warm pool of their bodies' heat, the sheen of perspiration, the give of soft flesh. He recalled her husky giggles and changed them to moans of passion. Conscious of his room's paper-thin walls, he kept his own completion to a compressed grunt.

Spent, his tight grip could finally loosen. He swiped the other hand across his eyes. His head was still pounding, but for another reason.

He dragged himself out of bed, washed up at the sink and dressed quickly into a clean pair of trousers and shirt. He pulled on his trenchcoat, wincing, still sore, and snapped on Jake's leash.

After the walk and returning Jake to his room, Bill decided it was late enough to telephone. This was ridiculous. He'd faced down the thundering guns of the Kaiser's fleet; he wasn't going to allow a little thing like a woman's millions stop him. Quite obviously, something was going on between them and he wanted to know what it was.

He asked the operator to connect him to Laura's house.

"Roslin residence," said a male voice.

"May I speak with Miss Roslin?" asked Bill.

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Bill Adams."

The voice warmed. "Mr Adams, I'm happy to speak with you."

Bill furrowed his brow in confusion.

"This is Mr Zarek, General Manager of Roslin Industries. I'm actually in charge of all business dealings. Miss Roslin assists me with publicity. She's just the face of Roslin Industries."

That damn 'shipping' thing! "Listen, I'm just a sea captain, okay? And not even that anymore," growled Bill.

"I see," Zarek said coolly.

"Can I speak to Laura?"

"I'm afraid she's not available."

"When the hell will she be available?"

"She's a very busy woman," Tom said regretfully, belying his earlier assertion.

"Then tell her I called."

"Of course," was the smooth reply, but Bill doubted the message would be delivered. He slammed the phone back in place and stormed from the boarding house.

Seeking coffee and food, Bill bought a paper and ducked into the neighborhood cafe. He found himself flipping to the society page against his will. And saw their picture, their shocked faces washed white, but his bruises dark and mottled.

 _Laura Roslin, out with her newest escort. Wags hears this one's a sailor. Are suitors dwindling among her own ranks that she's had to move down to the docks?_

Crumpling the paper, Bill hurled it across the booth. If he ever got his hands on that reporter...How could Laura stand to deal with that every day? He was glad he hadn't reached her after all. She didn't need that sort of trash written about her simply to go out with him.

~~AV~~

After Laura burned off her fury by breaking her mother's favorite figurine, she fell into self-pity at the lost opportunity to really know Bill better. That passed at around four A.M. with her finally settling on the decision the date's failure was all his fault.

Sleeping late, she woke hollow-eyed and in no better humor. Despite being awake, she couldn't will herself out of her large, sumptuous bed. She twisted the satin covers in her fists, her mind immediately racing through everything again.

Why was she letting him get to her? She was Laura Roslin. She could have her choice of admirers.

Then she remembered her reaction when she'd seen the muscles that rippled on his chest as she'd tugged his shirt off his sturdy arms. She thought about the way his large hands rested on her back as he guided her to and from the cab. How she'd sucked in her breath at the time, wondering how those hands would feel against her breasts, her thighs, her...

Her hand had crept down, beneath her panties. Maybe she could... It might make her feel more confident to face the world this morning.

She snatched her hand back out from her underwear, flushing. How could she look anyone in the eye after doing such a thing?

Instead, she climbed out of bed and indulged in an extra long shower before making her way down to the office.

Emily was diligently working away when Laura strode in. She was determined to spend her time productively and not let herself dwell on last night. She'd already missed Tom. He'd been and gone.

Elosha knocked briefly before entering the study, delivering a fresh pot of coffee.

"The kitchen would like to know if you will be dining in tonight. Or will you be out on the town again with your captain?"

Pushing back her paperwork, Laura threw her pen across her desk, and jumped up to pace from one end of the study to the other.

Her entire theme of self-pity and believing everything to be Bill's fault returned as she confessed all the details from their date, her strides lengthening with each remembered humiliation. She admitted her duplicity to Emily about William Adams' profession, but her momentary embarrassment would be worth it once her friend fully understood the indignities she'd endured the evening before.

Her voice rose as she reached the crescendo of her rant.

"And then he made this big scene about paying the check as though putting it on my account would have chopped off his manhood! It was simply ridiculous!"

Sourly, Emily reflected on her last date, where the 'gentleman' asked her to go Dutch _after_ they'd dined. Meanwhile, Laura Roslin, the millionairess, had a man fighting to pay for her meal.

Elosha, who had whipped out her knitting from beneath her caftan and was now perched on a chair in the corner needles clacking away, piped up. "I thought you told me he'd want to pay. You seemed to find that a redeeming feature, if I remember."

Caught off guard, Laura whirled to face her. "Whose side are you on?"

The old maid tugged out the yarn and purled back, her silence giving her answer.

Laura huffed in shock. She turned to Emily. "You understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

Emily floundered for an answer. She shuffled the papers on her desk. She and Laura were no longer college sorority sisters, staying up late to make fudge and talk about boys. Besides, Bill Adams did not sound like a boy, and that may be the problem.

She finally cleared her throat. "Perhaps it was all simply a new experience for him. It sounds as though there's been a lot of changes in his life-"

Dropping into a chair, Laura folded her arms and buried her chin in her chest. Some friends...she glanced from Emily, now sorting through her dictation notes, and Elosha, adding another row to a bright red scarf for Jaffee's son, the new footman.

With a sigh she realized they had work to do, and so did she. "I better change. I'm due at the Pensioners Hospital in an hour."

Elosha and Emily made polite murmurings, obviously grateful to be relieved of the romantic confidant roles.

Laura wandered from her study, dissatisfied. The two women looked at each other, a mingling of fear and humor in their eyes. They'd never seen Laura like this before, and certainly not about any man. It was exciting and frightening at the same time.

Then Emily's gaze caught on a crumpled piece of paper in the garbage can. She saw _Bi._ Retrieving the note, she smoothed it flat. _Bill Adams_ , but no number or note. It was Tom Zarek's handwriting. Frowning as she thought of his sneaky smirk as he'd left the study earlier, claiming he had a meeting, she decided to show this to Laura later.

~~AV~~

Up in her room, after changing into a sensible tweed suit, Laura added plain jewelry and a touch of lip rouge at her vanity table. She tried to ignore the intoxicating scent wafting from the vase of the lush deep-red roses that Bill had sent before their date.

But then her gaze fell on his gift, still wrapped, its bright green bow taunting her as much as the roses' velvet petals.

She should open it. If he'd spent a great deal of money, she'd want to return it immediately. If it were a box of chocolate...well, she'd save those for later.

It was too heavy for chocolates. When she pulled the paper off, she found it was a book, the popular new detective mystery, _The Big Sleep._ She remembered her shameful vice, the detective stories, pouring out on his lap and couldn't help but laugh.

She flipped the book open and noticed bold if unsteady handwriting on the title page:

 _Laura, dear, I've never met you, but let me tell you, Bill's a great chap. Don't let that glare scare you off. He's got the biggest heart in the world. -Raymond Chandler_

She shut the book, tears pricking behind her eyes. She jumped up and pulled the telephone from the hall into her room. Connecting to the operator, she went about finding the number for Bill's boarding house.

As Bill returned, Mrs La Cruz stuck her head from her room's door. "Mr Adams, there you are! There's a call on the telephone for you!"

"Thank you, Mrs La Cruz," Bill said, thumping up the stairs to his floor's hall phone.

"Yeah, Adams here." He stood straighter at the familiar voice. "Saul!"

He'd parted from his best friend at the dock, although there'd been no sign of Ellen, his fickle wife. Bill had assumed she'd lost track of time in some watering hole, and had given his friend a number to reach him when the two of them came up for air. Frankly, it was happening earlier than he expected.

"How the hell are you, Bill." Saul sounded drunk.

"Fine, fine. How's Ellen?"

"Not here yet, dammit, and I'm tired of waiting around," grumbled Saul.

Feeling a prickle of concern, Bill rumbled sounds of support.

"Let's blow this town," said Saul. "Go up to Reno and hit the tables. Find some girls."

Bill started to decline and then reconsidered. Perhaps he needed to blow off some steam, so to speak. "Sounds good, buddy. Where are you?"

"I'll meet you at the Third Street station. There's a train in an hour."

Checking his watch, Bill decided he could make it. "I'll be bringing someone though."

"You've picked up a broad?" Saul asked, shocked.

Smiling, Bill spotted Jake's head poking out of his door. The dog wiggled with excitement as he came to his master's side. "Nope, it's another guy. You'll like him. He's a lot of fun."

"Sure, sure, the more that merrier. No dames, though. They weigh a fella down."

"Ain't that the truth," agreed Bill.

Frustrated, Laura hung up the phone. She kept getting a busy signal. Checking her watch, she knew she must go. She'd have to try again later.


	6. Chapter 6

"Does that mutt have to stop at every tree?" griped Saul, stopping and looking back at his friend waiting patiently for his dog.

"It was a long train ride."

"And that's another thing! I wanted to go first class, and instead, I had to ride in the baggage car to Reno and back because of him!" Saul pointed a scrawny long finger at Jake who was trotting ahead now.

Hands in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, Bill strolled on. "Aw, don't bitch. You won a packet off the baggage porter playing poker."

Saul caught up with them. "What's with this dog anyway?"

"I dunno," said Bill, shrugging. "Just always wanted a dog. Father wouldn't let me have one, Carolanne wouldn't let me and the boys have one. But my time is my own now, so I got one."

"What if you get another ship?" Saul asked, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

"I think those days are over, Saul," Bill said gently.

Saul's shoulders slumped.

Jake spotted their home and started to lope toward the boarding house.

"We're gonna leave that beast here when we go to the fights, right? I didn't come all the way back down to 'Frisco to get thrown out before the undercard's over."

Bill tossed his cigarette into the gutter. "Yes, he can stay here now that he's pissed on all those trees."

A young man in a green tunic and jodhpurs with tall boots stepped from a Hudson parked at the curb. Self-consciously, he unwound the red scarf around his neck. He had a light fuzz of hair on his face and shadows under his eyes.

"Mr Adams, I have a message for you." He held out a thick envelope.

Suspicious, Bill carefully took the missive.

Squinting at the quaking young man, Saul lit a cigarette and leaned against the automobile.

Bill tugged the notecard loose:

Bill, I've been trying to reach you by telephone with no luck, so I've asked Young Jaffee to wait for you-

Shifting his eyes to the footman, Bill winced. They'd been gone three days and it appeared the young man had spent the entire time in the car.

-We're both being utterly silly. Please call me and we'll try this again.

~Laura

Grinning, Bill charged into the building. Saul barely had time to follow when his friend came barreling back out.

"Sorry, Jaffee." Bill had forgotten his manners in his haste to get to the telephone. "Thanks for waiting so long."

The young man touched his peaked cap. "No problem at all, sir. There's no reply to be delivered?"

"Don't worry," said Bill. "I'll do that myself!" He headed back into the boarding house.

Jaffee got behind the wheel of the car, but before he could start it up, Tigh leaned into the window of the Hudson. "Say, boy, who's your boss?"

The fresh-faced young man flushed. "Miss Laura Roslin, sir."

"Oh, her!" Disgusted, Saul straightened and slapped the roof of the car to signal Jaffee he could go.

From the moment they'd settled onto their packing crates in the train's baggage car, Bill had started to tell Saul all about this woman he'd met on the docks. And for three days on, any little thing reminded him of this broad. Saul had finally snapped when Bill rejected the charms of one of the hot little numbers that Saul had secured for a 'private performance' at the strip joint they'd visited.

"I just can't, Saul."

"She's not gonna know, you knucklehead!" Saul didn't even bother saying Laura Roslin anymore; his friend was always thinking of one person.

"I would know." Bill had walked out the door, leaving Greta and Helga pouting their ruby lips, their equally rosy nipples peeking over the top of their bustiers.

Saul had yelled after him: "Maybe you should marry this dame! She's got a ring through your nose already!"

This Laura Roslin had ruined the trip to Reno and now it looked as though that woman was going to bust up going to the fights! Saul ran up the steps to find Bill leaned against the wall on the phone.

"I was out of town with a friend," Bill was saying with a soft tone like Saul had never heard from him.

Laura, having rushed to the study phone in a very undignified fashion to snatch the receiver from Emily's hand, leaned against the desk to catch her breath. "A friend?" she asked testily.

"Yeah, my old Second Officer is waiting for his wife to come to town."

Laura smiled. "That's nice of you."

"Sorry I missed your calls." He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why didn't you just leave a message with Mrs La Cruz? You didn't need to have that boy stake out the front door like I was Dillinger."

"Mrs La Cruz," said Laura coldly. "So that's her name."

Nervous, Bill turned away from Saul's inquisitive gaze. "You've spoken to her?"

"Several times. She sounded friendly-to you. Not so friendly to me."

Bill blinked at the phone. Then he grinned. He liked this jealousy, even if it was misguided.

"So, are you available to go out again?" asked Laura. She'd decided to toss pride to the wind. If she waited for this man to make a move- "Tonight?"

"Tonight?"

Saul grabbed his friend's shoulder and hissed in his ear. "The fights!"

"Did you say something?" asked Laura.

"Sorry, Laura." Bill swatted Saul away like they were boys in homeroom.

"You can't see me?"

"No, no, I want to see you," he assured her. "But Saul and I were going to the fights tonight-"

"Oh, I love boxing!"

"Really?" Bill's face split in a goofy grin again. What a gal!

Saul groaned and leaned against the wall. "You're embarrassing yourself, man!" he hissed.

"Would you like to come along?" Bill said daringly.

Saul thumped the back of head against the wall. His friend turned his back on him again.

"That would be swell," Laura gushed, twirling the phone cord around her finger.

"They start in an hour," said Saul, loud enough for Laura to hear.

"Why don't I meet you at the arena," she said. "It's the Dewey, Carlton fight, right? At the War Memorial Hall?"

"You read the sports page?" asked Bill.

"I've already placed my bets," she said crisply.

Bill chuckled, his big hand caressing the phone's mouthpiece.

Saul leaned close. "Tick, tock, lover boy!"

Putting his palm over his friend's face, Bill shoved him back.

"I'll meet you out front," she reassured him. "You boys get there on your own, all right?"

He murmured his parting while Saul paced the corridor. Finally hanging up, Bill turned an innocent face to his friend.

Saul put his hands on his hips. "Smile all you want, buddy. Whispering sweet nothings means we don't have enough time to clean up. Gotta go!"

Bill ran his hand across his jaw. He hadn't shaved since they left for Reno, dammit. His clothes smelled of smoke and booze.

Now it was Saul's turn to laugh. Grabbing Bill by the scruff of his pea coat's neck, he dragged him down the hall. "Come on, lad. Your lady awaits!"

~~AV~~

"Bill, the first bout is about to start," Saul whined, pacing in a small circle outside the venue.

"Here she is now," Bill said, tossing aside his cigarette.

A long, shiny black Rolls Royce pulled up to the curb. A beat cop moved forward to protest, until he glanced inside and saw who it was. He tipped his cap and stepped back.

Bill hurried over to open the driver's door, beating out Young Jaffee who'd been riding in the passenger seat.

Smiling her thanks, Laura stepped out. She wore a sleek suit in a bold rust-orange and black herringbone. Her hair was pulled back and clasped at the base of her neck and her hat was large and round, set back like a nimbus to frame her features.

Saul stared at this sophisticated vision, slack-jawed.

Bill led Laura to the sidewalk. "It's good to see you," he said warmly.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she dropped her gaze to her gloved hands clutching her handbag. She was surprised to feel soft whiskers brush against her cheek as he gave her fleeting kiss. Her eyes shot up to meet his, and they grinned at each other.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm a mess." He snatched off his old black Fedora.

"No, no you're not."

He wore his dark pea coat again, and a navy fisherman's sweater beneath it with a rolled collar, revealing his strong neck. Uncontrolled by Brylcreem, his hair was wavy and she noticed the strands of gray for the first time. The stubble on his cheeks was also gray, but she thought he looked more distinguished than destitute. Her fingers began to itch inside her gloves, desperate to explore each bristle that proved his virility.

"You're not growing back the mustache, are you?" she blurted out, flustered.

He chuckled. "No, you told me you don't like it."

The crowd outside the venue had grown. Laura was jostled by several people who were eager to get to their seats before the first bell rang. She swayed on her heels toward Bill, and he instantly drew her closer.

"Come on, baby." He urged her toward the entrance with his large hand at the small of her back.

Momentarily confused-no man had ever called her baby, not even her father-she was startled by a dangerous-looking man who emerged from the throng to loom over them. His unkempt appearance sent a shiver through her. The acrid mixture of sweat, smoke and alcohol permeating from the pores of his skin made her nose crinkle automatically in distaste. She tried to school her features, knowing that these type of men patronized boxing bouts, and he most likely meant them no harm. Nevertheless, she found herself gripping onto Bill's arm for protection.

"Saul, this is Laura Roslin. Laura, this is my best friend, Saul Tigh."

Laura stared at the tall thin man, realizing that he and Bill did indeed have a matching set of stubble. Her eyes crept upward, blinking at the knitted cap that was perched on top of his head. It was too small to be a beret, reminding her hysterically instead of one of Elosha's covers for her teapot.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, he snatched the cap off, revealing his almost bald head.

"Miss Roslin," he greeted her with a nod. "Bill's told me all about you."

She flashed Bill a look. He was glaring at his friend. "He has?"

Saul went on, ignoring the unspoken warning emanating from Bill. "Yeah, but he didn't say just how rich you are! Damn, you must be Daddy Warbucks' kid sister!"

She fixed a social smile on her face. "I really wouldn't know."

Bill herded her away from Saul. "I already got the tickets; we better get to our seats."

Weaving their way through the crowd and up the narrow aisles, they finally found their seats. The ring was far below through a haze of smoke. They had arrived in the nick of time; the first fighters were being introduced.

Saul flung himself into his seat with a sigh of satisfaction. Bill held the flip-up seat down for Laura to sit beside his friend, then sat next to her. She murmured her thanks and looked around, taking in the whole scene.

When she attended fights with her father, they're always sat ringside with his equally impressive friends, a circle of chauffeurs and footmen surrounding them. This experience was so...Earthy. The smell of onions wafted up from the gentleman in front of her; the woman behind her smelled heavily of rose toilet water.

"Can you see fine?" Bill asked.

The bell rang; the lightweights circled each other.

"Yes, it's alright." She quickly smiled at him.

"So where did you go out of town?" she asked, but the roar of the crowd drowned her out.

"Whatda ya say?" Bill leaned close.

She leaned over and repeated her question. The man seated behind her, who'd been craning his neck around her large hat was now blinded again. He leaned to the other side to see the ring.

"We went to Reno," Bill said shortly and she didn't like how his eyes shifted. She tried to delicately sniff without him noticing-cigarettes, alcohol, but no perfume.

Before she could press Bill further, Saul poked Laura's shoulder. "Would you like a nip?" He offered his flask.

Laura gaped at it, askance. "No thank you, really," she murmured, raising her hand.

Saul looked at the flask, then understanding dawned. He pulled a filthy handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the mouth before offering the bottle again. "It's prime whiskey," he promised.

"I appreciate the offer," she said, leaning closer so Saul could hear her. "But I had a cocktail earlier."

The man behind her quickly switched sides to see around her hat.

"Not a drinker, eh?" Saul swigged off the flask.

"Not really," Laura said faintly.

"Pass it onto Bill then."

She took the flask and offered it to Bill. He shook his head and she returned it to Saul, moving to and fro in the process.

"Lady, take that damn hat off!" roared the man behind her in frustration.

Bill leapt up. "Hey, you can't speak to her that way!"

The man lumbered to his feet, his fleshy belly knocking Laura in the head. "Why the hell not! Her crazy hat is too damn big!"

"Then ask politely, or I'll make you," growled Bill, curling his hands into large fists.

Laura tugged at his arm. "Really, Bill, it's nothing-"

Saul half-climbed over the seat back. "Listen, you jerk, we'll take you down a peg-"

Whipping her hat off, Laura put it in her lap. "See, all fine now."

The men weren't listening. Saul always enjoyed a good fight and Bill had felt a nagging need to show Laura that those two thugs may have gotten the best of him on the docks, but he could take care of business for her if necessary.

The large man's friend pushed Saul back. "Ah, shaddup and siddown!"

Another man yelled down at them. "All of youse siddown and shaddup! I paid to see a real fight, not some some old men bumping chests!"

"You shaddup!" Saul hollered back, then took another long swig off his flask.

Bill sat back down by Laura. She squeezed his fist until it relaxed and his fingers laced with hers.

One fighter in the ring pummeled the other until he was laid out flat, the referee counting to ten over him. Then the victor's arm was raised in victory.

The crowd rose around Laura, roaring in approval, their heat washing over her in waves.

"Did you win anything on that bout?" Bill asked, his mouth close to her ear.

She grinned back. "Yep. I've followed that Santini kid for a while."

He chuckled, then put his arm across the back of her seat. At first she stiffened, unaccustomed to such familiarity out in public, but no one seemed to be noticing, other than Saul's sad gaze on them. He drained his flask and extracted a pint bottle from another pocket.

The bell rang and the next fight began. This one was more evenly matched, but eventually there was another knockdown.

A young man seated behind them rose from his seat and yelled, "You dirty son' of a Irish bitch, get the hell up off the mat! I got ten damn dollars on your sorry ass!"

"Hey, watch that language!" Bill bellowed, turning in his seat. He motioned to Laura. "There's a lady present."

The belligerent man pushed his hat back and squinted at Bill. He waved his meaty hand to his companion, a plump, heavily-made up young woman who was smacking her gum indignantly. "What's 'er, a box o' cabbage!?"

The woman slapped his shoulder, he raised a hand to cuff her and Laura began to wonder if this had been such a good idea. She wanted to be with Bill, not the seedy underbelly of San Francisco's sporting fans.

The bell rang to signal the end of the round, startling everyone into sitting back down.

Bill leaned close to Laura's ear, his breath fluttering her hair as he spoke, "I called you too. Before I left," he clarified. "Did you get my message?"

"Yes, but too late." She frowned, thinking of her discussion with her General Manager after the discovery of Bill's message.

"I didn't think you wanted to see him again," Tom Zarek had told her.

"Why would you think that?" she had snapped.

"It's just what I heard. The servants..." He'd shrugged. "You know how that class gossips."

She hadn't returned the wide smile that spread across his face, exposing his perfect white teeth. She refused to believe Old Jaffee would ever share confidences about her, and certainly not Elosha. Perhaps that vivacious new maid, Bridgette?

The girl hero-worshipped Laura a bit, and she could imagine Bridgette staying up late to wait for Laura to return from her first date, gleaning that tidbit to drop into Tom's receptive ear.

Standing by her desk, she had been considering how to broach the topic of discretion without crushing the young woman's spirit, and didn't notice Tom coming around to stand directly beside her, one step closer than she was accustomed to.

His voice was low and insinuating when he told her: "As a friend, I'm concerned that you may be taken advantage of-"

Surprised, she glanced up, and was unsettled at what she saw in his eyes as he smiled at her-hope, familiarity...She must put a stop to this before the situation became uncomfortable.

"Tom, you're an indispensable employee," she'd said carefully, hoping the word 'employee' would give him some indication of her personal feelings toward him.

Tom's dazzling smile faltered. In reality, it had been for no more than a few seconds, but Laura had still shivered with reaction as the dark look that flitted across his face in that brief moment.

"I intend to remain that way, Miss Roslin," he'd said formally.

"Thank you, Tom," she'd replied with an equal amount of formality.

He'd turned to leave, his hand reaching for the door handle as she found her voice again. "And Tom, in the future, remember. There's no need to concern yourself with my personal life."

His shoulders had stiffened, but he didn't reply, only closed the door behind his back a bit louder than was necessary.

A cheer went up around the arena, bringing Laura back to the present.

Saul was on his feet, unsteadily swaying and shadowboxing. Most of the spectators in their section decided to join him, and soon, only she and Bill remained in their seats.

Laura inched closer until their legs touched, tucking herself further under his arm. "I can't see much."

Bill's blue eyes, ridiculously even more prominent amid his unshaven appearance, drifted up and down her body, before settling to study her face.

Laura's breath caught and her heart skipped as he leaned close to speak into her ear again. "The view's pretty good from here, baby," he rasped.

Laura's nose crinkled. "Must you call me baby?"

Bill immediately picked up on the edge in her voice. She was right; they weren't kids anymore. "Okay, what about sweetheart?"

She gave a little shrug "Sweetheart's good," she said with no real enthusiasm.

Bill's eyes focused solely on Laura's lips. "Darling?"

"I like darling," she said, breathless.

"Love?" he suggested throatily. The boxing wasn't the most romantic place to steal a kiss, but no one was watching them. He bent toward her soft mouth.

"Love?" her voice trembled. "I'm not sure-"

He caressed her mouth with a small chaste kiss.

"That tickles," Laura said, pulling away and giggling.

Not the reaction Bill was going for, but he inexplicably found himself grinning like an idiot back at her.

The crowd let out another loud cheer. Bill felt like he was bundled up inside a warm comfortable cocoon with Laura; just the two of them, with no outside distractions or barriers.

Laura ran her fingertips gently down the side of his face. "There should be a razor in amongst my father's things," she informed him in a husky tone. "Perhaps we should retire to my house-"

"Woo-hoo!" Saul danced in front of their seats, knocking their knees uncomfortably. "I won a sawbuck! Drinks are on me!"

He lurched, almost toppling over the seats in front of him. Bill grabbed him, dragging him back upright just in time.

"Maybe you've had enough to drink, Saul," Bill barked over the deafening noise of the patrons either commiserating over their preferred fighter losing or celebrating their favorite's win.

"Another drink's not gonna hurt me!" Saul claimed, rocking like the pendulum in the Roslin family grandfather clock. He swung precariously out, close to keeling over into the seats in front of them, then pitching back against Bill's bulk. Laura shuffled further away in her seat.

The fights were over. Everyone in the audience was rising and shuffling toward the exit.

"Come on." Bill stood, hooking his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Let's get you outta here."

With a start, Laura realized she'd missed the whole Dewey versus Carlton bout. She'd been paying attention to the man beside her, not the fighters. She stood, wobbling in her too-high heels, and tried to follow the men. Finding her seat had been easy, with Bill's strong arm guiding her, but locating the exit was proving to be a more difficult task without him by her side.

She clutched her hat and handbag, grappling with a horde of sweaty smelly bodies until she finally burst out the doors into the street.

She gasped for breath, only to inhale a large mouthful of cigar fumes.

"Laura Roslin!"

She looked up from her coughing fit to see the Jacob Cantrell staring down his thin nose at her. Pulling out a handkerchief from her handbag, she dabbed her watering eyes.

"Mr Cantrell, nice to see you as always," she greeted him, inflecting just the right amount of sarcasm in her tone. She looked over his shoulder, frantically searching the sidewalk for any sign of Bill.

"Don't worry. My photographers are still inside with the fighters," Jacob Cantrell said, misinterpreting her desperate look. A bemused smirk toyed on his lips as he took in her dishevelled appearance.

She flashed him a sour glance, pushing her hat firmly down onto her head again.

"Laura!" She swung around to see Bill, his face obviously relieved, but his arms still full of his helplessly inebriated friend.

"Bill!"

Ignoring Jacob Cantrell's speculative glance, she stepped closer to Bill, creating a small gap between them and the newspaper man.

"Sorry, I lost you in the crowd. Are you okay?"

Laura gave him a weak smile, futilely brushing at her suit. She really must look a sight.

"Come on Bill! Let's celebrate!" bellowed Tigh. "Forget about the rich dame for five damn minutes!"

Saul wriggled around in Bill's arms. Bill caught him just in time, saving his friend from slamming head first onto the concrete pavement.

"I'd better get Saul back to his hotel," Bill grunted.

"Yes," Laura clipped out her reply, frustrated that once again there date wasn't ending how she had anticipated.

"So this is Mr Adams." Cantrell slithered his way into their circle, leering eagerly from Laura to Bill and back again.

"Yes. Bill Adams, this is Mr Cantrell, the Editor-in-Chief at the Examiner," she added Cantrell's title blandly.

Bill glared at the newspaperman. If only he didn't have his hands full, he'd like to belt this guy, just on principle.

"Miss Roslin," another voice came from behind them. "Your car's this way, ma'am."

Somehow, Bill maneuvered his way to whisper in Laura's ear, still keeping Saul upright. "I'm sorry," he said, his face sadder than his dog's when denied a treat.

It didn't have the desired effect on Laura; she had too much pity for herself to spare any for Bill. She thought it was wonderful that Bill was such a loyal friend, really, she did. It spoke to his strong character, the sort of man she wanted to know better-which was exactly the problem! Disappointment was stuck in her throat like a fish bone.

After a few deep breathes, she could speak: "Good evening, gentlemen," she said in a loud, clear voice. Then she spun on her heel and followed Young Jaffee back to her automobile, leaving the three men huddled together, Bill looking as frustrated as she felt, Saul gauging the distance to the gutter as his stomach pitched, and Cantrell cursing that his photographers were inside the building.


	7. Chapter 7

Under the shower's thumping stream, Bill scrubbed the smell of the past few days from his skin-and particularly the last hour helping Saul to bed. Damn, he hoped that woman Ellen would show up soon before Saul pickled his liver.

And before his friend could ruin any more engagements with Laura...

He rubbed the bar of soap in slow circles around his belly, his hand creeping lower-

He'd seen a light in Laura's eyes tonight, hell, on that first night-physical desire. She certainly didn't behave or look like any fifty year old spinster, but he wasn't certain what that meant.

Frankly, if she had some experience, he'd be grateful. He was too old to deal with repressions-hell, he'd discovered in his marriage that experience didn't mean much either. It was all in the attitude, and Laura Roslin appeared to have plenty of that. Without the fear of pregnancy, they should have no inhibitions...Although he better check on that, delicately of course, before they found themselves with a little surprise.

Rubbing shampoo through his hair, Bill decided this was all getting too complicated. He was a man, she was a woman; keep it simple, he reminded himself.

Turning his face up to the spray, he wondered if she liked showers or baths. He could see her in the shower with him, taking the bar from his slack hand, and with a throaty giggle, 'cleaning him up.' Or her in a pile of bubbles, her nipples peeking out at him, the red tips as coy as her smile...

Resolutely, he turned the water to cold. Other voices in his head joined the discussion-

 _Old Tia Guadalupe, calling him a dirty boy..._

 _Grandpa Jed, those blue eyes still sparkling despite his advanced age, winking at him..._

 _Brother Jose, shaking the French postcard under his nose that the priest had found in his bookbag..._

 _Father, calling him before his desk to discuss that girl Jaycie from down the street..._

 _Carolanne, her eyes squeezed shut, telling him to not touch her there..._

 _Saul, drunkenly muttering, you've never gone for a redhead before. What's with this one?_

Turning off the water, he shook like a wet dog.

 _Laura's hand on his thigh as she had leaned over to his ear. "I say the Schultz kid takes Harrison in two rounds."_

 _"I'll take that bet, bab-darling," he had replied._

~~AV~~

Laura slipped lower in the bathtub until the bubbles tickled her nose; she loved her baths. Lavender scent rose from the water. She hummed with pleasure before her brow crinkled.

The moment she'd walked through the door, drooping and disheveled, her maid had escorted her to the bathroom, clucking like an old hen. She was on her third tub-full of hot water and was finally feeling relaxed. Laura had been in Bill's world tonight and felt very out of her element-was she too soft and pampered to be there?

Elosha poked her head into the bathroom. "You're gonna prune up, Miss Laura," she scolded.

"I'm fine," Laura grumbled.

Elosha came in and offered a large fluffy white towel from the heated bar. "What are you sulking about now?"

"Nothin'" Groping for the sponge, Laura made a show of washing her arm slowly.

"At least you didn't break anything when you came home tonight," Elosha noted, sitting on a small stool to wait her charge's latest mood out, holding the towel patiently.

Laura moved onto washing her leg. "The date was fine."

"You stank to high heaven." Elosha shuddered. "What sort of evening out with a lady is watching two men brawling?"

"He didn't force me; I wanted to go. Remember, I used to go to the fights with Daddy."

"You never smelled like you'd been rolling on a barroom floor after going to the fights with your father."

Squeezing the sponge on the back of her neck so the warm water ran across her shoulders, Laura pursed her mouth. "Elosha, do you think I'm a snob?"

Neatly avoiding the query, Elosha replied with a question of her own. "Where'd that come from? Did he call you a snob?"

"No, of course not. He wouldn't do that." Laura sighed. "I just can't see myself living in his world-"

"He's asked you to live in it?" Elosha asked quickly.

"No!" Laura said, flustered. "We've only known each other a few days. I'd never-"

The maid harrumphed.

Despite what she'd just said, Laura returned to her theme: "And I don't know if he'd be comfortable in my world."

Elosha rolled her tongue on the inside of her cheek. "I just know I'm grateful Mr Adams didn't bring that drunk friend of his back here-"

"He wouldn't have done that-" Laura rose in a rush of bubbles and streaming water.

Handing her the towel, Elosha stood as well to offer her hand as Laura stepped out of the tub. "You seem to know a lot about this man you've only known a few days."

Laura wrapped the towel tightly under her armpits. "Yes, I do; it's as though I've known him forever," she said, her voice filled with trepidation.

As the younger woman wandered out of the bathroom, her robe and slippers forgotten, Elosha crossed her arms, surprise on her wise face.

Laura found a pale pink negligee to slip on in her dressing room and returned to her bedroom. Taking her hair down from its clip and brushing it, her gaze fell on the roses Bill had given her. Most of the lush petals had fallen off the stems, leaving a ring of red around the cut crystal vase. No servant had dared to clean them up.

Placing her tortoiseshell brush back on the vanity table, Laura thought those roses were like this romance; they were nearly out of chances.

Dragging her feet, she made her way to bed. She wasn't sleepy, but she didn't know what else to do with herself. Propping herself up on a pile of satin pillows, she put on her glasses and picked up Bill's gift, _The Big Sleep_. It had been three days since she'd removed the wrapping paper and she was finally ready to read it without misting up.

Finished cleaning up the bathroom, Elosha bustled through to the bedroom. "Goodnight, Miss Laura," she called at the doorway.

Laura murmured her reply, engrossed in the mystery novel already.

Mrs Regan gave it to Marlowe:

 _"My God, you big dark handsome brute! I ought to throw a Buick at you."_

 _I snicked a match on my thumbnail and for once it lit. I puffed smoke into the air and waited._

 _"I loathe masterful men," she said. "I simply loathe them."_

 _"Just what are you afraid of, Mrs Regan?"_

 _Her eyes whitened-_

Laura head jerked up when the phone rang faintly in the hall outside her room. She glanced at her bedside clock. Eleven o'clock. The servants were all in bed; no one should be having an emergency. No one would call this late...except a certain man.

She leapt from the bed like a schoolgirl, beating it out to the phone on the landing before Old Jaffee, resplendent in a red velvet robe, could make it the phone in the foyer below.

"I have it!" she called over the railing, snatching in the receiver. "Yes?" she gasped. "This is the Roslin household."

"Hey," a gravelly voice said. "You're still up."

Yanking the long cord behind her, Laura retreated to her room, pushing the door shut behind her with her hip. "Yes, I am. Was just reading. Your gift."

"Is it any good? Ray was always a bit off." Bill rubbed his wet hair with the end of his thin towel around his neck.

"It's wonderful. You can read it when I'm finished."

He chuckled.

She sashayed toward the bed, still dragging the cord behind her. "Is there something I can help you with, Mr Adams?"

"Sorry about Saul. He can be that way."

Flopping on the end of the bed, she rolled onto her back. "I understand. You had to stand by a friend."

"Yep." Bill leaned against the wall next to the phone and rubbed his belly through his thick brown robe. His tone cooled. "Do you stand by your pal Wallace Gray much?"

She made a face at the phone. "I wouldn't expect you to read the society columns, Mr Adams."

"I just happened to see your picture." He turned to stare at the phone as though confronting her. "Is this Gray your fella? Should I be clearing off?"

"No!" In a panic, Laura went bolt upright on the bed. "Not at all! He's just a friend."

"Sure, I've heard women say that before," he grumbled.

She fell back over. "Well what about your landlady? She sounds awfully cozy with you," she snarled.

"Her? What's she been suggesting?" Bill craned his neck to look over the landing's rail. Was Mrs La Cruz's door cracked open?

"Enough," Laura said coolly. "So she's not pretty?"

"It wouldn't matter if she looked like Dolores Del Rio! She's not my girl."

"You got a girl?"

He sidestepped the question. "Say, let's try this again, okay?"

"Okay," she breathed. "When?"

"Tomorrow." His voice was urgent.

"If you can wait that long," she teased.

"I'm a very patient man."

She made another face at the phone. "Where?"

"You pick this time," he suggested dryly.

"I know a place, Sam's Grill. It's very private. No one staring at us," she promised.

"Sounds good. Does it have dancing?"

Laura curled on her side, stroking the white handset against her ear. "You dance?"

Alone in the dim hallway, Bill stood at attention as though for review. "I can dance."

Stifling a laugh, she rolled onto her back again, her gaze far away, to the next evening. "It's got booths with curtains, very private."

He chuckled again. "You seem to be thinking about the privacy a lot."

"Aren't you?"

"I'm thinking about you," he said, low.

"What about me?" Her hand pressed to her flushed cheek, glad he wasn't there to see his effect on her, but desperately wishing he was beside her now. Not that they'd be talking-

"What'd you do with yourself while I was gone?" he asked.

She stifled a snort. What did he think? She'd been waiting by the phone? She put on her most professional tone. "I attended to my business interests and my charities. I'm a very busy woman, Mr Adams."

"Right. I talked to your General Manager," Bill said cautiously. He hasn't liked that man's manner at all, but he didn't know; perhaps the guy was Laura's cousin who needed a job. No sense running this Zarek down until he knew more about her.

"I apologize for that," she said. "He just thought he was being helpful," she grumbled.

"Sure. I bet part of his job is beating off men after your money," he said, then frowned to himself.

"No, I can take care of that myself," she said briskly. "I'm not a woman whose head is turned by charm and glib tongue."

"Good thing, or I wouldn't have a chance," he said and she burst out laughing.

"You do all right, Bill Adams," she said, her tone throaty.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. This woman... "Sounds like you're pretty busy. Not much time for this old dog-" he said woefully.

She frowned. "Yes, my work is very important to me; it's not something I play at-"

"And I think that's swell," he assured her. "My mother worked. She was my father's secretary...Until I came along," he ended uncomfortably.

"I think it's wonderful that your parents worked together." Laura gave a deep sigh. "How romantic."

Bill wondered what this Tom Zarek looked like and felt his blood beginning to boil. "Say, what time should I pick you up tomorrow," he rasped. "Five?"

"Five o'clock?"

"Too early?"

"I don't care what you say, you are impatient," she murmured.

"Okay, six then."

"Six it is." She knew she better get him off the phone soon before she invited him over right now. "Good night."

"Good night, Laura," rumbled down the phone at her, making her shiver.

After returning the phone to its table, she crawled back into bed, but found herself in no mood to read. Somehow Philip Marlowe was a pale imitation to a certain flesh and blood man of the streets.

~~AV~~

Laura pulled the card from bouquet of white roses that had just arrived at her house.

 _Until tonight_ read the card.

A great deal of promise in two words. But white? Signifying purity? Laura wrinkled her nose. Nodding at Bridgette to put them in water, she headed upstairs. She'd show that man how suggestive the color white could be.

~~AV~~

Bill studied his appearance in the mirror one more time. He was thankful that the bruises on his face had at last faded to a soft light green. He touched his now smooth face, remembering Laura's fingers doing the same last night.

A knock made him jump.

Jake let out a short warning bark, then joined his master at the door.

"Saul!" Bill said, surprised at his unexpected guest.

Saul shuffled his feet around in the doorway, wringing his hat in his hands.

"I just came to apologize. For how I acted last night in front of your new dame." Saul finally looked up and took in Bill's appearance. He ran a hand over his own untidy whiskers self-consciously. He'd clean up when Ellen's boat arrived, he promised. "Hey! How about when Ellen arrives in town, we go out. The four of us."

"Yeah, that'd be swell."

"I'm sure Ellen and Laura would get along like gangbusters."

"Yeah," Bill answered carefully. Bill hadn't known Laura for long, but he could almost bet on fireworks going off if those two women got in the same room together.

"Dammit!" Saul exploded, slapping his hat against his leg, and flopping down into the middle of Bill's bed. "Ellen's been nagging me for months to give up the sea and settle down. Now that you've retired, what's gonna be my excuse?"

Bill thought about all the snide remarks Ellen had made over the years, blaming him for Saul's absences. "That's for the two of you to sort out," he said cautiously.

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Saul. "And now she's showing me-gone off somewhere..."

"She loves you, Saul. She probably headed back as soon as she found out we docked."

Jake rested his head on Saul's thigh and looked up at him sympathetically.

"I know. I don't deserve her." Saul sighed despondently, unconsciously petting the dog's head. "All I think about when I'm on shore leave is taking off again. Drives her nuts."

He smirked at Bill. "What about you and this rich dame? You showed her a good time yet?"

"No; the first few dates have been rocky. But I'm taking her out to dinner and dancing tonight." Bill pulled out his pocket watch to check the time; he didn't want to be late.

"Nah. I mean have you showed her a _good_ time. You and her been making whoopee?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

"Why not?"

"Why not? Because she's not some floozy I picked up from the docks!"

"I thought you did meet her at the docks."

"She's not like that." Bill decided he wouldn't share Laura's offer that he use her father's razor; surely she just meant he needed a shave.

Saul jumped up from the bed. Jake skipped in a circle excitedly. "Oh God! You're going to marry her!" he said in horror.

"I never said anything about marrying her. I just respect her, that's all." Bill tucked a single white rose into his jacket's buttonhole.

"Aw, Bill, you're already head over heels or you wouldn't be dolling yourself up like a stiff just to eat." Disgusted and downhearted, Saul turned away.

Bill squeezed his old friend's shoulder. "You know me, I won't do anything rash."

Saul nodded and shoved his crumpled hat onto his head.

"Why don't you go back to your place and get some sleep?" suggested Bill, pulling his overcoat out of the closet.

"Gonna hit this dance hall on Turk Street. There's a girl there who can bend all the way over-"

Bill cut him off. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Saul caught him with an arm around his neck. Leaning in close, he told Bill: "Take my advice. Just get laid. Don't run back to Reno or anything stupid like that."

Disentangling himself, Bill put on his own hat. "Who're you talkin' to, Saul? Would I ever do anything that crazy?"


	8. Chapter 8

The maitre d' of Sam's Grill met them like old friends. He was welcoming to Laura, "It's great to see you again, Miss Roslin," but he was just as warm with Bill.

He shook Bill's hand. "I'm George, Mr Adams. Pleasure to meet you. You need anything, let me know."

Following one step behind Laura as they weaved between tables, Bill agreed with her recommendation; this was one swell joint. With dark wood walls, red tablecloths and flickering candles, it set a mood. And the jazz band, playing low and smooth, could carry that mood all evening long.

George personally lead them to their intimate booth and once they arrived, he introduced their equally eager waiter, Ted.

Ted took Bill's overcoat and hat, while George lifted Laura's black mink coat from her shoulders. She turned to Bill, her eyes twinkling; she knew the effect her gown would have. His slow grin was exactly what she'd hoped for.

Her dress was less formal than that from her first date, but its simplicity meant Laura herself was on display. The black chiffon skirt skimmed her hips and thighs, the hemline caressing her sleek calves. The sleeves were snug fine silk, nearly transparent. The bodice was pure white pleated silk that wrapped around her torso and across her breasts, leaving a deep V of skin exposed. She'd chosen no jewelry tonight.

"Very nice, Miss Roslin," he said, that deep voice rumbling through her bones.

Ted held open the red velvet curtains to their booth. When Laura turned to slide in the bench seat, Bill saw her dress's back was deeply scooped, baring her skin to mid-back.

After taking their drink order, the waiter asked, "Would you like the curtains open, or prefer them closed?" with a grin on his freckled face.

"What do you think, son?" Bill said, his eyebrows raised.

Stifling a laugh, Ted let the curtain drop.

Laura and Bill exchanged suddenly tentative smiles. He made an elaborate exercise out of lighting a cigarette after offering one to Laura, which she refused.

The truth was, his denials to Saul had replayed over and over in his mind as the cab had wound its way from the Mission District up to Nob Hill. Forced to defend his feelings for Laura Roslin, a raw nerve had been exposed, one he'd been trying not to touch since he'd met her. Sure, he desired her. And yet something had made him flee her home that first night, something more than her maid's disapproval.

Unfortunately, he hadn't found any answer before his cab had stopped in front of the palatial mansion. All he knew was his heart always tightened when she smiled as she had at seeing him waiting for her in the foyer, his hat in his hand. It was a smile that flowed from her lips to her eyes when he'd just said two words, "Ready, darling?"

Surely she felt the same way, would say something...

Instead, after taking a sip of water, Laura asked Bill about his trip to Reno.

He shrugged, then draped his arm across the back of the booth, resting it lightly on her shoulders. "Saul loves to gamble, see shows-" His eyes shifted.

A smile flickered across her face. "Shows with girls?" she dared to ask.

His gaze went to her cleavage. "Not really my thing."

She laughed. "It's all right, Bill. I know men like to look at pretty young girls."

He shrugged. "I'm too old for that. I've seen a _lot_ of dancing girls in my life."

She opened her mouth to tease him again, but she could tell from the seriousness of his tone that this meant something to him. "But you go along to keep an eye on your friend?"

Through the veil of smoke slowing curling up from his cigarette in the ashtray, he shot her a quick, grateful look. "Yeah."

Ted knocked discreetly outside the booth. After delivering their drinks, he took their dinner orders and whisked away, dropping the curtain behind him again.

Laura lay her hand on Bill's thigh. "So you've seen all there is to see in this world? If you're tired of dancing girls." Her eyes sparkled over he glass's rim as she sipped.

"It's not the world I'm tired of," he said, solemn. "It's seeing it the same old way. I want to keep traveling, with someone to show around-" He grinned ruefully. "I'd like to not have to answer the blow of the ship's horn anymore."

He sipped from his drink too. "What about you? I bet you've been all over the world."

"A different sort of traveling than you." Her hand smoothed down toward his knee. "Beside the usual Grand Tours, I often went with my father visiting our mines, plantations, factories..."

He had to widen his legs; relieving some pressure. "I was probably the vessel picking up your ore, bananas, or machine parts."

Delighted, she laughed. "Perhaps we'd passed on a dock!" She nibbled on her drink's olive.

His gaze returned to the shadow between her breasts. "I would have remembered you. You sure caught my eye on this pier."

Taking her hand away, she fumbled for her cigarette case in her clutch purse. He helped her, lighting her cigarette.

"Your father is gone?" he asked, even as he knew the answer.

She blew out a plume of smoke. "Yes."

"No other family?" he probed.

She gave a stiff smile. "No, they died. Just some odd aunts and uncles around."

"I've got some odd aunts and uncles myself," he said to lighten the mood. He could read a warning light when he saw one.

His arm returned to its position across the back of the booth, his fingertip tracing a circle on her shoulder. He captured the end of one curl, wrapping his finger in her russet hair.

Leaning close, she rested her cheek on his. "Mmmm...smooth this time," she gently teased. He looked down at her, his gaze drifting to her lips. They brushed mouths, teasing as lightly as their words.

His head cocked, listening to the band. He knew that tune- _Night and Day_.

"Wanna dance before dinner gets here?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she said with a big smile, needing a break from his intense gaze. She'd expected a light-hearted evening of flirting and wasn't sure where they were going.

Once out on the floor and in his arms, she tried to shake him from his thoughtful mood. "So you're looking for a good time companion for these travels?"

"No." He closed the polite distance between their bodies, pulling her close, so they were pressed chest to chest, hip to hip. "I'm done with playing around," he murmured into her hair.

She didn't want their bodies to part, not even a hair's breadth, but she needed to find an emotional distance. "Surely since you've had marriage, children, it's time for some fun," she chided.

"Who's saying marriage can't be fun?" He moved his head back far enough to smile down at her.

"You had a fun marriage?" Laura's face pinched.

"Not particularly. Yeah, there were some good times, and I have two great boys from that marriage. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be married again."

Glancing around the dance floor, she said resolutely: "I simply haven't had a need for a husband."

"I guess that depends on what your definition of a husband's purpose is," he said slyly. He spun her, much lighter on his feet than she'd expect for a man of his bulk. "What about that Wally fellow? Has he asked you?"

"Well, yes," she said airily. "But he needs me; I don't need him."

"For his career." Bill's lips twisted with distaste.

"That too." She didn't meet his eyes. "His mother would like him to be married."

Bill's chuckle rumbled. "Oh, like that, huh?"

"What do you know about that?" Laura peeked up at him around the wave of her hair, worried that she'd inadvertently betrayed Wally's secret.

"My grandmother had wanted my uncle to get married too." He snuggled back into her curls.

"You are a man of the world," she said with approval, finding she couldn't keep her fingers from toying with the hair at the base of his neck. Despite his introspective mood, she liked how at ease with himself he seemed tonight, finally free from prying eyes and clinging friends.

His fingertips found their way up to the bare skin exposed by her dress's deep scooped back. She shivered at the sensation of them brushing along her skin.

"I think our dinner's ready," Bill said.

Stumbling, feeling short of breath, Laura looked vaguely toward their booth. "Really?"

"Yeah." His strong hand resting on her hip, he led her to their red velvet cocoon. As soon as the curtain dropped behind them, he was kissing her. Not aggressive, as she'd been expecting after being marched off the dance floor, but painfully gentle touches and caresses of his lips and tongue, easing her mouth open, exploring, drawing her closer-

There was a knock outside. Bill settled back in the booth and quickly straightened his tie. "Come in," he said, his voice deep and controlled.

Pupils dilated, Laura stared at him, her lips still moist and agape.

Ted fastened back the curtains and laid out their plates before them. Bill thanked him, while Laura remained stunned, her mind blank, like a record run to the end, just making the same skipping noise.

Bill made more pleasant small talk as they ate. Laura was grateful; she needed to regain her equilibrium. Then the conversation took another turn.

"Yes, I ride with a hunt down in Woodside, but really, it's just to get out for a gallop in the fresh air. I find some reason to go back before they run the fox to ground," she admitted, then speared a green bean.

He snorted. "I used to lay out all night on my belly with a pea shooter, waiting to pick off the foxes coming for my uncle's chickens. Not quite as much fun."

"Oh, I'm sure you loved it." She smiled back, imagining this rough and often stoic face as a little boy.

He'd finished eating. Pushing the plate back, he lit a cigarette. Through the haze, he gave her a small smile. "I enjoy hunting. But out of need-" The intense expression was back. "Not for entertainment or some compulsion to feel superior."

Laura thought of the hunts with her father, that moment when the wealthy men stood by the dead beast, one booted foot up on its carcass. She knew of the sort of men of which he spoke.

"As I said, I don't participate in the kill." Laura found herself oddly breathless. "Even when I was on safari with my father, I'd go have a porter take me out to watch the animals at the waterhole-anything but seeing them dead."

"You're a soft touch." His fingertips were back, lightly dancing along her forearm.

"Please don't tell anyone." She'd meant it as a quip, but somehow it sounded aching and sincere.

"Your secrets are safe with me," he told her right before his mouth settled on her neck, gently suckling, not enough to mark, but with enough pressure to make her grab a handful of the tablecloth and twist it.

Her other hand buried in his hair, pressing him closer-there was another knock outside the booth.

Less in control this time, he barked: "Yes!"

George peeked around the curtain. "I apologize for interrupting, but I thought you should know. There are press photographers at the front door. I can't send them away-"

Laura found her voice. "Of course not." She looked at Bill. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Why don't we go home for coffee and liqueurs?"

"Sounds good." Bill reached for his wallet.

"I'll bring the check," said George, disappearing.

Laura plucked at Bill's sleeve. "I'm sorry-"

That gaze was on her again. "I'm not."

"Oh!" She smiled back. "Yes."

George showed them out through the kitchen. "I'm so sorry about the press hounds," he said, visibly upset. "I'll find out who on the staff called them and they shall be dealt with."

Laura laid her hand on his arm for a quick moment. "Don't bother, George. It could have been another patron. And really, our evening isn't ruined."

Bill shook George's hand, a large bill folded in his palm. "Miss Roslin is right. I can take care of things from here." He looked up and down the alley. "We'll get a cab ourselves."

Bill handed Laura into the cab he flagged down at the street. They settle onto the seat after he gave the driver the address.

"We made our escape," she said gleefully.

"You like excitement," he stated.

She turned to smile at him, and his mouth was there, swooping in. Eager, she returned his kiss, finally able to do what she'd been yearning to do all evening-give into this man.

Laura was accustomed to men who saw kissing a necessary evil on the way to what they knew they were going to get at the end of the evening. But Bill reveled in the act, his tongue and lips moving slowly in tune with hers. Her large hands cradled her head, one thumb stroking her cheekbone while the other rubbed beneath her ear, making her whimper in delighted agony.

Her own hand groped in the dark, finding his chest. His heart thumped under her palm through his shirt-she desperately wanted to touch his bare skin. Her hand shaking, she moved it up to his neck, gripping its thick strength, finding the flutter of his pulse with her fingertips.

He tugged her onto his lap, her mink coat feeling like some sleek feline that was curled around him. His head was light from lack of air, but he couldn't stop kissing her to breathe. She was open to him, and like bending to a lightly perfumed red and white lily, he drank her in greedily.

Her hands moved back down to his chest, gripping the muscles through his shirt. She wiggled on his lap-she had to be doing that on purpose. His hand slipped under her heavy coat, finding her skirt had ridden up and he grabbed her silk stocking-sleek thigh to still her movement-

The cabbie coughed.

Finally coming up for air, Bill realized the cab had been stopped for a while outside Laura's house.

"Won't you come in?" Laura gasped, pushing her curls back into place.

He frantically fumbled for his wallet. "Yeah."

After helping her out, he shoved money through the cab window, not even bothering to count the bills.

"You want me to wait, sir?" The cabbie smirked, revealing a missing front tooth.

Bill didn't answer; he turned to offer Laura his arm and they went up the stairs.

There was no Jaffee opening the door before Laura could touch the handle. After unlocking the door, she held it open for Bill to enter. Her eyes glowed in the dark foyer as she slipped off her black cloak. "It's the servants' night off. You'll have to put up with me serving you."

He tossed his hat and overcoat in the direction of a low bench against the wall. "Your maid will probably pop out any minute," he said, glancing up to the landing high above.

Giggling, she looped her arm through his, leading him to one of the lounges. "I sent her on a visit to her brother's for the weekend."

"Oh," he said faintly.

The house sounded very silent. She flipped on only one lone lamp and moved to the room's drink cart. He sank onto the long sofa, loosening his tie and popping the top button of his shirt. "So we're alone," he said, stating the obvious.

"Would you like a drink?" Laura offered. Her good breeding told her that simply asking him to kiss her again would never do.

"Whiskey, please," he said. He looked around, trying to concentrate on the room instead of his animal instinct to ravage her right there atop the medallion of the room's lovely Persian rug.

She poured him a drink, her hands shaking. He was watching her again with that penetrating gaze as she busied herself with the task.

"This is a nice room," he commented as she handed him the drink and settled beside him on the sofa. "I must admit , from what I've seen so far-" He tried not to dwell on seeing her bedroom later- "the decor isn't what I would expect to find in such a mansion."

She raised one eyebrow. "What were you expecting?"

"Oh, I don't know. A lot of excess, walls of family portraits crowded together, large dark rooms that offer no real warmth despite their grand fireplaces - where some of those safari kills stare out at you from above."

Laura snorted. "Sounds like my Aunt Katherine's."

"Your father must have been a tasteful man." Bill hoped his compliment didn't sound too cloying. He'd collected a lot of quality pieces since his wife's death, and he appreciated the classical beauty of Laura's house.

"Actually, my father was a very indulgent man. He let his daughter chose everything."

Bill turned back to study her lovely features for a moment before carefully placing his glass on the occasional table beside the sofa.

He ran one finger down the side of her face, imprinting every small detail to memory. "Of course he did," he murmured. He should have known that she would have chosen the furnishings. She was the most classical beauty he'd ever seen.

He leaned forward so he could taste her again but she stilled him, her palm resting on his chest.

It stayed there, most likely feeling the erratic beat of his heart, while her other hand reached up to mirror his. She explored his cheeks, her fingers intimately learning the crevices of his craggy face.

"I wish I was better lookin' for you," he admitted. "Like one of those flashy swashbuckling Hollywood heroes. Look better for those damn society column pictures."

"I've had flashy, Mr Adams, and they always prove to be rather unreliable." She moved her gentle touch to his lips; he kissed the tips of her fingers. "Perhaps I should have thought about my decorating successes. I don't like anything too traditional. I'm attracted to the rare and unique."

Laura gave Bill a gentle shove, and he readily lay back, his head resting on the arm of the sofa. He unfolded one leg, stretching it out, while his other remained placed on the floor. Laura happily crawled into the space between, comfortable as if cradled within the crook of a sturdy oak.

She dove into his welcoming mouth, kissing him hungrily. He reached up to steady her and his hands happened to land on her breasts. She giggled; he chuckled, but his hands stayed right where they were, tightening around her flesh. Her laughter turned to a low whimper.

He found the edges of her bodice, and finally, his hands were on her bare, heated skin. Her whimpers turned to pants against his mouth. He tried to catch her excited breaths on his tongue, lapping at her mouth as his thumbs played with her nipples.

She ground unabashedly against his groin and he grabbed at her hip, guiding it in rhythm with his own thrusts. His hand slid her skirt up, discovering slippery silk stocking, then her garter belt, and finally warm, firm flesh that tightened under his touch. The finest sheen of moisture was under his palm when it slipped under the leg of her satin panties. His mouth latched onto her neck, his tongue pressing to her racing pulse point. They were both breathing much too heavily for being this clothed.

Disentangling their bodies, Laura rose from the couch. Pushing back her hair, she gazed down at Bill sprawled on the couch.

"I...I'm going upstairs. Why don't you give me a few minutes, then join me?" she said huskily. She'd reached an age where she had no interest in grappling in half-dressed discomfort on the couch. She wanted to set a tableau for their first time, everything in its correct place, herself at the best advantage.

He blinked slowly. "Yeah. I think I'll have a smoke." He stood, still uncomfortably aroused. "Take your time. I know how you ladies are-"

She rolled her eyes and flounced to the foyer. In a few long strides, he caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs, catching her hand and turning her back to him.

"Laura..."

Gathering her face in his hands, he kissed her once more, so deeply that she sagged into him, her fingers burying in his hair. .

When he finally released her, Bill gave her a little pat on her bottom. "Go on now," he rasped. "Take as long as you need."

Clinging to the banister for support, Laura somehow made it to the top of the stairs. At her bedroom door, she stopped with her hand on the knob. This was ridiculous. She had a perfectly good man downstairs who could undress her-a shiver went through her body at the thought of his hands on her completely naked body. She leaned over the railing to call out to him, but there was no sign of him.

"Bill!" she called.

No reply.

She hurried down the stairs and back into the lounge. He wasn't there, nor in the garden through the French doors.

Perhaps he wanted a snack, although she could think of a few other things he could nibble on beside Cook's leftover pot pie. There was no one in the large, dark kitchen.

Next she looked in the garage. Maybe he decided to check out all her different automobiles; she couldn't keep men away from her cars!

No one was in the vast space.

Hands on her hips, she stood in the foyer. She called out one more time, now with an edge to her voice: "Bill!"

Nothing; he was gone.

"Son of a bitch!" she growled.


	9. Chapter 9

Laura stepped from her panting Aston-Martin. She had pushed it hard across the city, just daring a cop to try and stop her.

She opened her gloved fist, smoothed the paper clenched in it, and reread the note she'd finally found resting upon the hallway table after searching for Bill everywhere in her house.

 _Laura, I'll be right back. Gone home to get something._

Home? He needed to rush _home_ to this-Mrs La Cruz's squalid little establishment? What could he possibly have here that she couldn't provide at the mansion?

She glared up at the dark boarding house before her, crumpled up the note again and tossed it into the gutter. Stomping over, she checked the name list beside the front door. Bill's room was 3C. She banged the front door open and mounted the stairs.

"Hey! No lady visitors after six o'clock," rasped a boozy voice behind her.

Laura turned slowly and looked down her nose at the woman advancing out of a open doorway.

"Mrs La Cruz, I presume," she said coolly.

Suspicious, the woman pulled her violently patterned wrapper up under her neck. "Yeah, who the hell are you?"

"We've spoken on the phone. I'm a friend of Mr Adams."

"Oh, you," sneered Mrs La Cruz.

"Yes, me," said Laura briskly. "I'm here to see Mr Adams."

"He's not in," the landlady grudgingly admitted.

Laura paused, momentarily flummoxed. _Where the hell was that silly man?_ Then she announced, "Then I'll wait for him in his room."

"No ladies in rooms after six o'clock," Mrs La Cruz repeated, exasperated. "Do you want everyone to think you're a floozy?" She tossed her peroxided curls, which clashed terribly with her olive skin.

Laura raised an eyebrow, then opened her handbag and pulled out a large bill. "I'm a very wealthy woman."

Mrs La Cruz snatched the money from Laura's fingertips and quickly tucked it away in her bra. "Why didn't you say so?" she scolded, pushing past Laura. "Here, let me unlock the door for you."

When the landlady opened the door, Jake's nose poked out and he snarled viciously at her, showing his sharp back teeth. "You mutt-" Mrs La Cruz hissed.

"It's all right," said Laura, offering her hand for Jake to sniff. The dog settled immediately. "He knows me."

"I bet he does." Mrs La Cruz flounced away, her mules slapping on her large feet.

Laura flipped on the light switch and blinked at the drab little room. It was clean and tidy, at least. She wouldn't think of the mess she'd left in her wake when preparing for their date tonight.

There was little furniture to speak of: a narrow bed, with bedding so tightly tucked she was certain she could bounce a nickel on it, some shelves under the one window, and small chest of drawers. A sink hung on a wall under a tiny mirror. A heavy brown robe hung on a skinny door that must be his closet.

There didn't even seem to be a chair in the room. She grinned down at Jake. "I'll just have to wait on the bed then," she told him. His tail wagged in approval. Then, he moved to his dish by his basket, nudging it with his nose toward Laura.

"Hungry, boy?" Laura looked around. Bill had made a small bookcase from boards and bricks, and a few food tins serving as bookends on the top shelf. She picked up a can of fancy tinned meat. It had probably cost Bill dearly. Too damn bad, she thought and popped the top off to dump the contents into the dog's bowl.

He began wolfing it down. "You're welcome," she said, dropping the empty can in the small garbage can by the sink.

After wiping her fingertips on Bill's thin towel, she checked the titles in the bookcase. He'd amassed quite a collection in just a few days. Poetry, modern, rather racy novels, classics, even detective novels from a few of her favorite writers. Had Bill only bought those so they could have something to talk about? Or had he always enjoyed the genre?

She chose a novel, stepped out of her heels and flopped down onto the bed, smoothing her mink cloak around her. Jake soon joined her, snuggling against her legs. "You may not be allowed up on the bed," she told him. Both she and Jake knew she wasn't going to insist he use the basket in the corner. Blinking in the dim light, she pulled her glasses from her handbag and turned on the beside lamp, which was perched on an upturned orange crate, adding to the meager illumination.

~~AV~~

Bill thumped quickly up the stairs, checking his watch. Damn, he'd taken longer than he wanted. He opened his door and was fumbling for the light switch when he realized it was already on.

Laura Roslin was curled on his bed, glasses balanced on the end of her nose, one of his books on her lap. She quickly removed her glasses. "Took you long enough to get here," she scolded.

He stared at her for a moment, then stalked to the bed, leaned down and kissed her.

She instantly clung to his shoulders, responding automatically as his mouth took possession of hers. Then she remembered she was furious, and shoved him away. She crossed her arms and glared at his guileless expression.

Jake hopped over Laura's legs and greeted Bill eagerly. His master grinned and gave the dog a quick pat, then turned his attention back to Laura.

"I just need to check you're real," he said, fingering a lock of her hair.

Laura pushed her hair back behind her ears, working on keeping her composure.

"Why wouldn't I be real?" she snapped. Maybe reclining in his bed wasn't the best strategy after all. He needed to know she was still angry! Not just waltz in, give her a sexy smile and kiss her like nothing had happened. Surely she could find a dozen men who could kiss so well...

"I've had more than one dream about you turning up in my room." He pushed his hat back and tipped his head quizzically. "Didn't you read my note? I told you to stay put; I'd be back."

"I got your note. It may have escaped your notice, Mr Adams, but people don't tell me what to do - not even men," she said haughtily.

To her consternation, he wasn't offended, instead, he chuckled good-naturedly. "If I needed proof that you were real, I just got it. Although I prefer my way of checking."

She only pursed her mouth in a very unkissable knot.

"How'd you get into my room?" Bill looked at Jake accusingly.

Laura swung her legs onto the floor and crossed them. She dismissed his question with a small wave of her hand, not in the least bit guilty. "Mrs La Cruz and I came to a little understanding."

"I just bet you did." Bending down, he gently moved aside her foot and pried up the floorboard.

"My wife used to take forever getting ready. I figured I had at least an hour." He removed a sturdy shoe box from the opening in the floor.

"What did she do?" Laura murmured, stunned nearly beyond reason. If his wife had never been in any rush...Was Bill going to prove another disappointment in a long line of disappointments?

"I dunno. Woman things," he mumbled, palming a small object quickly into his jacket pocket.

She checked her watch. "It's been nearly forty-five minutes. You took the scenic route?" she asked sarcastically.

Still bent over his box, the tips of his ears turned red. "I didn't have enough money for a cab. I had to take the bus."

Feeling terribly about his poverty, she reached for him, but then she saw him pull a large wad of one hundred dollar bills from the box. "You didn't have enough money?" she said, incredulous.

He peeled off several bills. "I don't carry more than I'm going to need." His gaze slid up her long legs beside him. "But I was distracted tonight; let a few more bills slip out of my fingers than I expected; couldn't afford a cab back. You carry it, you spend it, I say-"

She gasped. "Bill! You're...You're not poor! You're a cheapskate!"

He frowned. "I'm careful with my money, that's all. I wasn't going to end up some old rummy sailor on a barstool-"

She was still confused. "You left me upstairs, ready to make love, to come get money?"

Replacing the floorboard, he loomed over her. "I'm not gonna ask my gal to pay for our marriage license."

Her mouth fell open and her voice reached an unladylike screeching pitch. "Marriage license?!" Jake cowered on the end of the bed.

Bill spoke slowly, as though she were simple-minded. "Yes." He pulled up her suddenly slack body, gathering her close. "We're going to Reno, tonight. To get married."

"What?" Now she could barely form a single word.

"Don't you feel it? Feel the same way I do?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But...But why does that mean we have to get married?"

"Believe me when I tell you, Laura, you were the only woman I would have walked out on tonight. I respect you too much to just take what I want without the bonds of marriage. I love you, in case you haven't noticed."

The whites of her eyes showed, like a frightened filly, and he could only grin with satisfaction at her reaction. The facade of the cool and collected heiress _could_ crack.

Marriage? Laura had spent her adult life neatly sidestepping the institution. She'd refused the proposals of a parade of eligible men; while sipping champagne; under moonlight; sitting by magnolia-filled ponds; with flickering candlelight lighting their earnest faces. And now this sea captain was ordering her to marry him with the smell of yesterday's cabbage wafting through his window. It was no wonder she was struck dumb for a moment.

But she had to fight back; panic welled in her throat. "Respect? Fine words from a man who thought I was a street walker the first time he saw me."

He glared at her. "I've been on a lot of docks, and trust me, you're the first heiress I've ever run into."

Trying another tack, she said, "You should know, I've had lovers," putting a heavy emphasis on the plural.

He only grinned, a slow, sensuous expression. "Okay."

"That doesn't bother you? Most men would not want used goods."

"See, I look at it this way. If any of those men had been satisfying you, you wouldn't have been lying on that bed when I walked in. You haven't been used, darling, you've been mishandled."

A flush rose on her skin at his confident smirk. Fuming, she realized she must divert him from this marriage talk.

Slipping from his hands, she lay back on the bed, her mink cloak draping across the entire surface. Jake quickly jumped off and retreated to his basket.

Crossing her legs, she smiled seductively up at him. "I'll marry you, Bill." She patted the bed beside her. "Later. Let's cut straight to the honeymoon," she said, shrugging the cloak off her shoulders.

"That's why we need to get married." He flipped the cloak back over her body as if closing curtains. "I'm sure Mrs La Cruz is on the phone to the papers as we speak."

"Who cares?" Laura pouted.

"Your reputation will be ruined; that's why I care."

Exasperated, she reached up, snagged his watch chain and pulled him down to her. "Don't be such an old fusspot."

He leaned over and gave her another kiss, but it was efficient and brisk. "There's gonna be enough uproar when you marry some roughneck from the docks. Let's do it right, tonight, no pictures of you coming out the front door in the morning in last night's clothes."

She was running out of excuses; she'd try the last one at the bottom of the barrel. Tracing his jaw with light fingers, she asked: "Can you ever be happy in my world, Bill? How people will judge you for marrying a much wealthier woman...I have to live in it, but I don't want you to be unhappy..." She found tears welling in her eyes.

He gathered her face in his big hands. "Will you be there?"

"Yes." She blinked the tears back.

"Then that's all I need." He lifted her from the bed. "Let's go."


	10. Chapter 10

"Water a tree, boy," said Bill, dropping Jake's leash to the sidewalk outside his boarding house.

Laura held out her car's key. "Will you drive?"

He clutched his small travel bag he'd quickly packed. "No, thanks," he rumbled.

"Don't worry. I'm used to men wanting to drive. If you crash this one, I have more," she said flippantly.

He still didn't reach for the key. "I don't drive," he finally admitted.

Surprised, she unlocked the passenger door and went around to the driver's side. "Never learned? Always at sea?"

Bill gingerly lowered himself unto the plush leather seat, tucking his bag under his feet. Jake leapt over him and took his station between the two seats. "Yeah, that's it."

As she turned the engine over, he braced one hand on the dashboard and gripped the armrest with the other.

"Bill, I haven't pulled away from the curb yet," Laura pointed out as she put the car in gear.

"Just gettin' ready, that's all," he said grimly.

Bill was surprised when they drove onto the ramp for the new Bay Bridge and didn't return to her mansion on Nob Hill. "You're not going home to pack a few necessities?" Carolanne and Ellen always had suitcases full of 'necessities', and Laura's lovely appearance certainly seemed as though it would take even more maintenance.

"No. I can always buy some new dresses once we get there." She accelerated, smoothly passing the other vehicles as though they were standing still.

Bill pulled out his pocket watch, mentally calculating how long the train had taken for their journey to Reno a few days ago. Even assuming that Laura's automobile set a faster pace, which it definitely was now as he desperately tried to ignore the bridge's lights flashing past his window, they would still be looking at quite a long drive.

"We'll arrive early in the morning. Not the best time to go shopping," he pointed out, frowning. He hadn't planned this elopement very well; she'd surprised him by showing up at the boarding house. But something told him he'd better keep an eye on her until they were in front of the Justice of the Peace.

"We'll also have to stop for gas along the way." Laura shifted her eyes. She only had six hours, at the best...Not that she didn't want to marry Bill...But she just needed more time to get used to this idea.

"Where shall we live, Bill?" she asked.

He stretched out his legs, relaxing slightly. "Well, I was thinking about asking Mrs La Cruz about gettin' a double bed-"

Laura huffed her breath. "Ooo...Kay," she said bravely.

He chuckled, reaching out to cup her cheek. "I won't ask you to give anything up, darling. Just gain one scruffy old man-"

Jake nudged Bill's shoulder with his long nose.

"Make that two scruffy old men," Bill said dryly.

Laura steered the automobile off the bridge and pointed it east toward the Sacramento Delta. They fell into amicable silence. She was discovering this was a man she could be silent around; he didn't need to be entertained.

The car wound alongside the wide river, shining black under the moon. On the outskirts of Sacramento, she stopped for gasoline, for Jake to water more trees, and to call back to San Francisco. She woke old Jaffee to tell him she'd gone for a long drive and to not expect her in the morning. He'd cleared his throat several times, but hadn't protested, ever the faithful head butler.

Sliding back behind the wheel, she said nervously to Bill, "It's all uphill from here," as the gas station attendant ran his rag over her car one more time, admiration in his eyes.

Bill nodded. "You can handle it though."

She couldn't think of a comeback and so remained silent, driving into the darkest hours of the night. The Aston-Martin climbed steadily up through the mountain passes, past the small old mining towns. There were few cars to slow their progress. The mountain air cooled and filled the car with the scent of pine. Laura turned up the heat, then accepted Bill's offer of a cigarette to help her stay awake.

The sky turned blue with the coming dawn. With each turn of her tires, Laura became more and more antsy, running through all the possibilities of-she gulped-marriage. Would Bill insist on replacing the servants? Want meat and potatoes at every meal? And of course, her lingering concerns about the bedroom kept coming to the forefront. She made a sudden decision-

"Bill," she said abruptly, causing him to jerk in his seat.

"Yes," he said carefully, sensing danger, but not sure where it was coming from.

With forced casualness, she replied, "I have a cabin on the lake up here. Why don't we pop in there? We can take a quick nap-"

He frowned.

"And I can change into something more suitable for my wedding." She put all her enthusiasm into that word.

"I think your gown is fine and it'll take ten minutes to get married," Bill said stubbornly. "Then we can nap." He patted her knee. "And get started on that honeymoon."

She bit back a retort. If she was going to be a wife, she must learn to manipulate this man to her advantage. "Really, Bill, I'm getting awfully tired," she murmured, allowing the car to drift on the road.

Instantly concerned, Bill agreed. As she turned the car toward Lake Tahoe, he decided freshening up in her little cottage would be just the thing. First rule of marriage; keep the wife happy.

Dropping out of the mountains, she followed the highway along the large lake's shoreline. Through the towering pines, Bill glimpsed glistening water of a fantastic shade of blue.

Laura turned down a drive, passing through more trees and came to a stop before a set of wrought iron gates. She tapped on her horn, blaring in the quiet morning. The door cracked open on a small cottage by the gates. A tall, balding man hurried out, tugging on his woolen coat. When he saw it was Laura's car, he quickly fastened the top buttons of his flannel shirt up to his chin and opened the gates.

She drove through slowly, then stopped and rolled down her window. "Good morning, Bagot," she said. "I'm sorry we disturbed you so early."

"Was just having my coffee and toast, Ma'am." The caretaker smoothed his remaining hair down.

"Marshall Bagot, this is Mr Adams," said Laura. "My fiance," she managed to say.

Bill stretched his hand across her to shake the caretaker's hand. After a moment's hesitation, Bagot reached into the vehicle and quickly shook Bill's hand. "Glad to meet you, sir."

"We'll be resting up, Bagot," Laura said, blase. "Then going on to Reno for the ceremony. Will you be available to drive us in the station wagon in the afternoon?"

Bagot glanced over his shoulder to the panel-sided station wagon parked by his cottage. "I"ll clean 'er up, Ma'am."

"Lovely," Laura enthused, releasing the clutch and starting to roll her window up. "I'll call down when we're ready to leave."

Driving on through the forest, Laura finally pulled the car up to a vast, rambling house made of granite blocks. Its steep roofs were covered in copper sheeting, glowing green patina in the bright sunlight. It sat beside the lovely cerulean lake, its waters swirling deep blue and green. She stopped under a high portico which sheltered a set of oak double doors.

"Here we are," she said brightly.

Bill got out of the car slowly. "Laura, just how rich are you?"

"Why?"

He tipped his hat back. "Just answer the question."

"Liquid assets or worth?"

"Laura-"

"Forty million dollars," she said miserably. "But before the Crash, it was a lot more-"

"Dear God," he said in wonder.

"Really, Bill, after the first ten million, it's all just paper."

He escorted her through the door. "That's a lot of paper, Laura." He closed the door on Jake's nose. "Let that dog chase some squirrels."

"Yes." Laura locked the door behind them and slyly slipped the key into the drawer of the entry table under her gloves.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw what she did. "You get a lot of people trying to break in up here?" he asked, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

She gave him a enigmatic smile. "I don't want us to be disturbed."

She turned and looked over her shoulder. "Would you?" she asked. He stepped forward, politely complying with her request to remove her cloak.

After quickly hanging it in the closet, he cleared his throat. "So...you got a guest bedroom for me to lie down?" He snatched up his overnight bag and glanced around.

The entry opened to one large casually appointed room, rising high above a flagstone floor scattered with rugs. The wall facing the lake had tall sun-filled windows standing on either side of a massive granite boulder hearth. Large pieces of over-stuffed furniture formed a semi-circle before the fireplace. Against the back wall, a grand staircase of split logs rose to the next floor.

Laura's smile became predatory. She pried his bag loose from his hand and dropped it by his foot.

"You don't want a nap, do you Laura?" he asked reproachfully as he tossed his hat off.

The smile became a smirk. "Nope."

"Now, Laura-" His tone became lecturing. "We can run over to Reno-" He unbuttoned his overcoat.

She pushed his coat off for him. "It's my turn to be the pushy one," she announced. Her level gaze met his stubborn one. "I'm a very astute businesswoman. I don't buy a car without taking it for a test drive, or a horse without some time in the saddle."

Her hands slid along his broad shoulders as she removed his suit jacket from his slack arms.

"Laura..." He tried to protest as he loosened his tie.

Her lips went to the small vee of skin she revealed by unbuttoning the top of his shirt. "No one knows we're here-" she murmured against his Adam's apple.

"Bagot-" His hands went to her hips, following their curves.

"He's a valued family retainer. He'll see nothing; say nothing."

As she breathed into his neck, her tongue tracing the stubble peppering his skin, her fingers burrowing through his hair, she felt his hands begin to do their own slow exploration. She always could spot that moment when a deal had turned to her advantage. She wiped the smirk from her lips and leaned back.

"Well, Bill?" she challenged him.

His eyes, deep blue with desire, darted to the stairs. "Why don't you go upstairs first-"

She laughed. "I'm not falling for that one again!"

He squinted at her like a grumpy old turtle, making her heart flip over. "Laura-"

Laura took advantage of Bill speaking, pressing her mouth onto his open one and kissing him. She flicked her tongue out, teasing his into responding.

Bill heard her small hum of triumph when he finally relented, slowly letting his tongue join and lace with hers.

His strong arms wrapped her waist, holding her body tightly-too tight to continue the undressing she desperately wanted to do, even as he was doing that _thing_ again with his kisses. She wiggled loose, keeping their lips touching as long as possible before reluctantly freeing them. Tugging at his loose tie, she led him toward a wide, overstuffed chaise lounge. With one finger in the middle of his chest, she pushed him to sit.

He grinned up at her. "Hey, beautiful," he rasped, wonder in his voice. The morning light flooded the room, bathing them in a warm glow.

"Hey, yourself," she murmured, motioning for him to continue undoing the buttons of his shirt. He shed his shirt so quickly, her eyebrows shot up. His grin widened.

Laura undid the clasp holding the crossed flaps of her bodice, causing it to swing open, revealing the sides of her lightly freckled breasts and stomach.

Instinctively, he reached for her-

"You're not going to insist we wait until it's official?" Laura teased, confident now that Bill had fully surrendered.

He tried to sound tough, but his voice cracked. "I should."

His hand slipped beneath the silken material of the bodice, opening it completely, giving him all of her to view. He caught her left breast, cupping its weight in his palm. "But you're making a very persuasive argument," he rasped as he thumbed her nipple until it hardened for him. "But-here? No curtains?"

Even as he protested, Bill's slid her dress's top down her arms, then tugged it gently over her hips to pool around her high heels, leaving her in nothing but her black satin panties, garter belt and stockings. He lay his stubbled cheek between her breasts, sinking into her body's scent.

She clutched his head. "No one can see us," she whispered.

"I can," he said, almost proprietorially. "Just you and me. Our own world."

His mouth found her nipple, grasping it between his lips, before breathing in her breast.

She sagged against him, hanging onto this shoulders, then tugging at his undershirt-she wanted to touch his bare skin too, taste it...

He released her breast long enough for his shirt to come off. His hands ran up and down her legs, cupping her calves, circling her trim ankles. His palms swept over her thighs, circling higher and higher...

"These are some great gams, darlin'," he groaned, running his tongue along her stomach.

She grabbed fruitlessly at his wide shoulders again, so frustrated that she couldn't reach more with him worshipping her body like this.

"I'll wear short tennis shorts for the rest of my life if you'll just let me touch you," she growled.

He unsnapped her garters and traced the length of her legs with the slithering black silk stockings. "You are touching me," he said maddeningly, still intent on his intimate inspection. He nosed her panties waistband lower to nip at her hip bone.

Her head swam; she really thought she was going to lose consciousness before they got to the really good part. Finding some strength, she shoved him over onto his back, him laughing all the way. Kicking aside her hose and heels, she crawled onto the wide cushion beside him, intent on his belt buckle above the promising tent in his pants.

"That's right. I was gonna take a nap," he said, putting his hands behind his head and grinning at her.

She spanned his broad chest with her nimble fingers. His pectoral muscles filled her palms and bunched when she squeezed. She squealed in delight, her tongue caught in her teeth. He chuckled in reply, capturing her swinging breasts in his big hands, his thumbs circling around her nipples.

Her giggles turned to groans. She had to remain focused...Escaping his touch and ignoring his grumbles, she returned to her task of getting rid of his pants. He'd already kicked off his shoes and toed out of his socks. After carefully pulling the zipper down over the bulge in his pants, she grabbed the waistband of his pants and underwear, and gave one great tug.

His erection coiled out, free from its bindings. She really shouldn't stare; she knew how uncomfortable that made men, but truly, this appendage was so stare-worthy, more than any she'd seen before...

Bill brushed her curls back from her face. "Like what you're seeing?"

She flushed scarlet. "I'm sorry-" She scooted away from him on the cushion, crouching like a shy child on her knees.

"Look all you want..." He reached down to cradle himself. "But touching is better."

Her breath caught in her throat. "You wouldn't mind?"

He didn't reply, but took her hand in his, and wrapped her fingers around his stout length, showing her how to stroke it. She gasped in delight.

"The skin's so soft!" she exclaimed, surprised. Her thumb gently circled the broad head. "Especially here." She captured the pearl of liquid there, spreading it on the silken skin. His hips lifted up, moving into her touch, his low moans music to her ears.

"Just like yours," he husked.

His free hand cupped her through her panties, before his fingers pushed aside the fabric, caressing her with light, teasing touches. At first he simply explored but even that was enough to make Laura pant unsteadily. No man had touched her like this. If they did anything, it was in some blundering search for entry. Bill seemed to be seeking something-

She gasped. He'd found that sensitive spot higher up. At first he just touched it lightly, causing her gasps to turn to frustrated whimpers. Encouraged, he rubbed harder, alternating between slow firm strokes and fast flicks.

Laura arched her back, moaning and grinding herself harder against his clever fingers unabashedly. Needing to support herself, she released him to brace on the cushion and push back on his hand.

"You like that?" Bill asked rhetorically, chuckling. He stroked wider, gathering moisture to spread through her swelling lips, and finally gently probed inside. Laura's eyes snapped open in shock and excitement. She spread her legs wider. Her thighs began to shake. She needed to hold on, steady herself...

Then she remembered she'd left him untended and roughly grabbed his straining erection again.

"Ow!" Bill jumped and carefully pried her fingers away. "Not quite so hard, darling," he rasped.

Mortified by his discomfort, Laura slumped against the chaise's arm, out of his reach.

After a deep breath, Bill looked up at her. "Where'd you go?" he asked with a grin which faded when he saw her downcast head, her gaze focused on her twisting fingers. He suddenly realized, that for all her talk of past lovers, that he'd been right. Not one of those bastards had bothered to make love _with_ her, only to do it _to_ her.

"Come 'ere, honey," he rumbled, tugging her down to lie beside him. Still not meeting his gaze, she complied obediently.

She buried her flushed face in his shoulder, trying to stop her limbs from shaking and her heart's erratic beat. She needed to slow down. Bill had to be put off by her eagerness.

"I'm sorry," Bill murmured, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against him. "If you're not ready for this Laura, just tell me. I'll wait."

He lifted her face, placing sweet kisses to both her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose.

Richard Adair's words kept replaying in Laura's mind. A lady should just lie back and let the man take all initiative. But Bill had told her to touch him, hadn't he?

"No. I don't want to wait. I want-" Her thoughts were confused. She wanted everything!

"What do you want?"

Bill's kisses lowered, his tongue and mouth gliding over her shoulder blade and settling in the hollow of her neck, licking and suckling on the rapidly beating pulse point there.

"This?" he asked huskily.

Her hands dug into his soft hair again, massaging his scalp as his mouth lowered even more, skimming teasingly across the swell of her breasts before returning to her mouth.

Bill couldn't resist another gentle exploration of Laura's legs. He planned on carrying out a thorough inspection of them later when they were both a little less on edge. His mind was filling with vision after vision of her and her legs, all shockingly intimate: wrapped around him while he took her hard and fast; astride him while she slowly drove him to insanity; hooked over his shoulders as he drank her in...

He reached her bottom and realized through his fog that she still wore her panties. This must be rectified; he needed to feel all of her. He hooked his fingers around the elastic and dragged them down, trailing a touch across her sleek skin in the process.

Bill's kisses were drugging Laura, making her whole body lethargic. She audibly protested when he broke contact from her mouth to rise above her.

"I'm still here," he reassured her. He lifted her hips to remove her last remaining piece of clothing, tossing her underwear toward their other discarded garments.

Rocking back on his haunches, he nudged her legs open, sliding his hands up her inner thighs. His fingers combed through her pubic hair before parting her gently, and pressing one soft, but incredibly sweet, kiss there, prostrate as a man in prayer.

At the unexpected action, Laura's breath caught, her fingers gripped at his shoulders. "Bill?"

Realizing she wasn't ready for this, he crawled back up to lay face to face with her. "You're just so beautiful," he assured her before he took possession of her mouth again.

Comfortable with the familiar, Laura returned his kisses enthusiastically. Bill pulled her close and swept his hands across her back. She followed suit, enjoying the broadness of his frame, the contrast of hard muscle and bone with his soft skin.

He took her hand and together, they stroked his length again, showing her the right pressure and rhythm. Assured she was ready, he slid his fingers between her legs, now slick with moisture. He lifted her leg and draped it over his hip, pulling her closer.

"You tell me," he murmured before claiming her mouth again for another deep kiss.

Reluctantly, she pulled her lips free. "Yes, Bill..."

She gently guided his erection between her legs and brought him closer with her leg wound around his hip. He pressed up as he lifted her leg higher, opening her to him.

Her shattered breathing made him still his penetration and meet her gaze. "You okay?"

She stroked his cheek with her shaking hand. "It's just... It's good."

Pulling her closer, he pressed deeper and her head fell back, exposing her pale neck to his seeking mouth.

Laura was sinking lower and lower in light-filled warm water. There was pressure in unfamiliar places, yet her limbs felt light as if floating. Refractions of sunlight drifted in the air above her. There were strong currents, his hands, his tongue, his lips, running over her body.

And then he flipped over onto his back, and she rose above him like riding a wave, the pressure now such a pleasure that she thought she was fragmenting from the sensation.

Bill placed his hands on her hips and encouraged her to rock on top of him. She soon settled into a slow tempo that had her closing her eyes and basking in each new sensation that resonated through her. Bill's hands drifted from her hips to capture her swaying breasts, kneading them and twisting her nipples with just the right amount of vigor.

She felt the familiar tingling and glow in her limbs from her other encounters-things were progressing nicely, she thought gleefully.

Then he snapped his hips up, meeting her down thrust, and she cried out, "Oh God, Bill!" for which he gave a satisfied chuckle.

She had to feel that again. Grabbing his strong forearms for support, she dared to rise as high as possible without him leaving her body, then she slammed down to meet his surging hips.

"Yeah, yeah...Damn, this...Oh damn..." babbled Bill, his head thrashing on the cushion. Her throat already raw, Laura could only manage a raspy laugh, delighting in her power over his body.

Bill felt an unwelcome coiling low in his groin. It was too soon, too damn soon. He released her breasts to search in her damp curls at their joining. Finding that now swollen nub between Laura's folds, he began rubbing it vigorously with his knuckle, trying to push her closer to the edge.

Her lazy half-closed eyes widened in confusion and he felt her inner muscles squeeze him tightly. He stopped his ministrations immediately, expecting the familiar reproach to come. He started to say, "You don't want-"

Her hand joined his, gripping his wrist as she pressed his fingers harder against her engorged flesh. "I want-" she admitted, licking her lips nervously. A blush rose across her freckle-dusted stomach and chest.

He didn't need another word of encouragement. Grateful that she was almost there, he could relax and surge up with deep, lazy thrusts. Her breathing hitched, and as her head fell back, he was shocked to see tears coursing down her cheeks.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked.

Planting her hands on his chest, Laura could only shake her head in denial. "Bill..."

She had nothing more to say but his name, more needy whimpers than the solid syllable. Forces overcame her limbs, her mind, her emotions, centered from where his fingers blurred against their joining. They were strong, pounding waves, roaring in her ears, drowning out her out incoherent cries and his answering admonishments, telling her how beautiful she was at this moment, how much he loved her.

She forced her eyes open. He arched off the cushion, his hips jerking uncontrolled. Now hyper-sensitive, she tugged his hand away, but the pressure inside as he seemed to grow even larger caused the quakes to continue to resound through her body.

He met her wondering gaze, and she saw his deep blue eyes flood with tears too.

She collapsed forward onto Bill's strong body, her limbs weak and listless as a rag doll's. Her legs were quivering and black stars flickered before her vision; she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

"Yeah," he said to her unspoken question, trying to regain control his own breathing. He was exhausted. Muscles that he hadn't used in years ached; he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. But instead of the expected lethargy, he was wide awake.

He gave her bare bottom a light slap. "Let's get you upstairs, cleaned up, and in bed," he commanded.

Grumbling and groaning, hardly the sophisticated woman anymore with her tousled hair and stubble-burned skin, Laura found her balance and gathered up her garments while he retrieved his travel bag. She led him upstairs to her large suite but before taking her to bed, he pulled her into the spacious bathroom.

After wetting a hand towel with warm water, he gently cleaned her, an experience she found nearly as intimate as their love making. She gripped his strong shoulders as he bent to his duties, glad he couldn't see the tears afresh in her eyes.

Finally, they found their way under the crisp, sheets. She draped herself on him rather than the mountain of pillows, but he didn't mind one bit.

He pushed back the curls obscuring Laura's features. Face down on his chest, her nose was squished against his solid pectoral muscle. She cracked open one eye at the intrusion.

Bill wasn't a man to gloat... But...

"So, are you gonna buy this super-charged roadster today or not?" he said in his best salesman's voice.

The eye blinked. Her voice was raspy. "If you move out of my sight ever again, I'll take one of my father's elephant guns out of storage and hunt you down."


	11. Chapter 11

Laura opened one eye and tried to focus on the bedside clock. It was a little after noon. Movement in the background caught her attention. Bill, fully dressed but for his suit's jacket, sat on a stool, polishing his shoes.

He noticed she was awake and grinned at her. "You can keep sleeping. I'm used to catching a few winks and returning to duty."

She pushed her hair back. "No, no," she grumbled. "I'm up." She snuggled further down in the bedding.

She would have reveled in actually falling asleep in this man's strong arms if she hadn't been so exhausted. So tired, she hadn't felt him leave the bed or hear the shower running.

His bright eyes watched her, just like Jake's after she'd fed him. "I thought I'd see about rustling up some grub for us. Maybe there's oatmeal in the larder?"

She managed to sit up, congratulating herself on the feat. Looking around, she remembered her negligee was in the dressing room.

As though reading her mind, Bill darted to the separate room and found her a robe.

After thanking him, she pulled it on and got to her feet. "I'm sure Bagot came in while we slept and stocked the pantry and fridge." Another reason she was glad they'd decided to retire to the bedroom.

She gathered Bill's face in her hands and gave him a kiss suitable for not yet having brushed her teeth. Then she turned him around and shoved him toward the door. "So go make me something to eat while I get ready."

A spring in his step, Bill headed downstairs. Shaking her head, Laura made her way into the dressing room to find something suitable for a...Wedding. She had to stop gulping with panic every time she thought of the word.

Following the scent of coffee, she found Bill on the sunny patio, smoking a cigarette beside the table laid for two.

"Wonder where that damn dog go to," he said at the sound of her footfall.

"I'm sure he just found some good squirrels," she said. "The property is fully fenced."

He turned, and saw her choice of frock for the day, a light chiffon white gown, scattered with yellow flowers. She'd chosen one with a demure high collar not just to befit the occasion, but to cover the love bites and stubble burn.

"Now, aren't you pretty," he said approvingly.

She could only smile. She could get used to this adoration.

"Let's eat and get this show on the road," she said with determination.

After dining, Laura called Bagot to bring the car up. When she hung up the phone, she told Bill, "Mystery solved. He said Jake's been with him."

"Fickle beast," grumbled Bill, helping her on with her coat.

"Perhaps he knows his master has a new mistress," she said, tweaking his tie. Then her hand stilled on the strip of silk.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"It was in that big closet," he said. "Do you mind?"

She smoothed the star-studded gold tie down. "Not at all. It's just...It was my father's favorite tie." She smiled at him, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm glad you chose it. It's as though he's with us today."

He nuzzled her cheek, saying nothing.

Under the portico, Bagot hopped out of the wood-paneled station wagon to open the back door for Laura. "Good afternoon, Miss Laura. Mr Adams."

Bill got to the door first, giving the caretaker a tight smile as he held it open for Laura.

Laura returned his greeting and slid into the back seat. Bill joined her. Bagot took his seat at the wheel.

Jake, behind the back seat, stuck his nose over to greet them. His coat was shiny black and white and he had a garland of narcissus tied to his collar.

As Bagot pulled away, he explained, "That dog found something to roll in, so I gave him a bath."

"Thanks, Bagot," said Bill, patting Jake's head.

"I picked a bouquet for you as well, Miss Laura." Bagot looked at her in the rear view mirror. "The last of the daffs. They'll look swell with your pretty dress. That one's always been my favorite."

Bill met the caretaker's gaze in the mirror, his face impassive. Bagot's eyes returned to the road.

"Bagot, while we're getting married, could you stop at the store and pick up some more food?" Laura glanced at Bill with a smile. "Steaks, potatoes? Some fruits and vegetables?"

"I'd be happy to come up and cook for you, Miss Laura-"

Bill's hard gaze returned to the mirror. "Don't worry, Bagot. I've got it covered."

"Yes, sir."

Oblivious, Laura twined her fingers with his and gave him a vague smile. Bill draped his arm around her shoulders.

Bagot drove down dusty Virginia Street, under the metal arch proclaiming Reno was the biggest little city in the world. The many neon marquees couldn't compete with the bright blue sky on this sunny day.

"Perfect day for a wedding," said Bagot, smiling at them in the mirror. Laura forced herself to return the smile. She quickly looked at Bill to see if he noticed. He was grinning at her, his eyes sparkling. Crinkling her nose to him only made him chuckle and kiss her.

"Which should it be?" asked Bagot, "The Little Chapel in the Nell? The Wedding Bells and Buffet? The Chapel of Love?"

"Which is closer?" Bill asked practically.

"Chapel of Love it is." Bagot pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a normal house painted a glaring shade of white and the name in glittering gold paint on the side.

The caretaker agreed to meet them after shopping, and left the three members of the wedding party.

The entrance was through a rose-covered pergola. Bill opened the door and they entered the empty chapel.

He called out, "Hello?"

"Coming!" rang out a reply from behind a lace curtained doorway at the back of the chapel. Laura clutched her bouquet, the flowers' heads quivering.

The tall, white-haired Justice of the Peace came out of the living quarters tucked behind the chapel. He'd been having lunch. He pulled his napkin from his shirt collar and straightened his bolero tie, a large piece of fool's gold.

His prominent Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke. "Howdy, folks!" He bellowed over his shoulder, "Mother, git out here!"

He shook Bill's hand with his greasy fingers. After shaking his hand as well, Laura, grateful for her gloves, felt the first fatal welling of giggles rising as she watched Bill allowing Jake to lick his dirty fingers discreetly before quickly filling out the necessary form and slipping the man payment.

She took a deep breath. Oh no, not that. It had always been her downfall. Her mother's disapproving glare at her tea parties, when the admonishment to sit still was just too much and Laura couldn't stand it another moment. Her college professor's rolling eyes as Laura found herself dissolving into laughter during debates. The stricken faces of her aunts and uncles at the wake for her father and sisters, when giggles became her response to their offers of condolence.

"Mother!" bellowed the Justice of the Peace.

"I'm coming, Poppy!" scolded his wife as she bustled out of the living quarters.

Regaining control, Laura shook hands with Mother, a tiny rotund woman, who removed her apron before sitting down at a white, upright piano. When she hit a ringing, out of tune chord, the first guffaw escaped Laura's lips.

Poppy looked at her disapprovingly.

She dared to glance up at Bill. Instead of frowning, she saw his lips twitching in amusement too. This did not help. Desperately, she glanced around the chapel, but everything, from the portrait of Jesus that made Him resemble Shirley Temple with rosy-cheeks and curly blond locks, to the dusty crepe paper wedding bells hanging from the ceiling next to the insect-covered strip of fly paper made her only want to laugh more.

"Dearly beloved," Poppy started, his high, nasal voice dragging out every syllable.

Her laughter erupted. She sagged against Bill. He remained tall, meeting the Justice of the Peace's glare with his own. "Go on," he rumbled.

"We are gathered together-"

Laura realized he also had a lisp. She sighed, trying to keep from laughing, but collapsed against Bill again as Poppy's spittle landed on his tome when he said, "To join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

Bill supported her elbow and nodded to the Justice of the Peace. "Keep goin', Padre. We're almost there."

Poppy raised his bushy white brows, but kept going as ordered. "Do you Laura Roslin, take this man, William Adams, to marry you?"

That sobered Laura up. She straightened, lifted her chin and said, "I do."

"The rings?" asked Poppy.

Laura looked at Bill in panic. She hadn't thought of that. And there was the matter of his ring! She glanced at his hand, but it was thankfully gone. She didn't want Poppy and Mother to assume Bill was a bigamist. She hiccuped another giggle.

Mother leapt up from her bench, spry for someone of her age, and hurried forward with a cardboard box. She flipped the lid open to reveal rows of cheap tin rings.

"No thanks," Bill said. He fished something out of his pocket, and dropped it onto Poppy's open book. Laura saw the glint of gold and a green stone.

"Repeat after me," said Poppy. He lifted the ring and looked at its unusual design suspiciously before giving it back to Bill "With this ring, I thee wed-"

Bill slipped it on her finger; it was a bit loose. Laura closed her fist to both keep it in place and see the ring. It was an unusual piece. The stone was a milky green opal, a swirl of silver and green colors that changed with every movement of her hand. The gold band was wide and heavy, with intricate, primitive designs. Whatever its origin, it seemed very Bill.

Suddenly Poppy was saying, "I declare you man and wife," but she didn't have time to panic before Bill was kissing her. She melted into his kiss, not caring about the older couple watching askance.

True to his word, after they returned to the 'cabin,' changed out of their wedding clothes, and took a long stroll along the lakeside, stopping often to kiss and simply hold each other under the fragrant pines, Bill cooked them a hearty dinner of steaks and baked potatoes. Laura selected a bottle of strong red from the wine cellar and moved a small table and two chairs into the great room, placing them before the hearth.

While dinner cooked, Bill fetched large logs from the woodpile, and built a roaring fire to ward off the cooling evening air. Laura smiled to herself watching his pleasure in these simple tasks. Making fire, preparing food-he was her provider in his own way.

Having finished her meal, Laura pushed back her plate and examined her ring by candlelight, which brought out the silver fire in the opal. "This is such a lovely ring, Bill, but so unusual. Where did you get it?"

"When I was in Mexico once." He took her hand and turned the ring to show her the gold band. "These are Aztec designs, but it's not that origin. Probably just the designer's fancy. It's Spanish made, from the time of the Conquest."

His features, in strong contrast from the flickering firelight, very much looked like an Aztec warrior's to her.

"It cost me my money roll, Saul's, and my watch," he said with a grin, "but I had to have it."

His smile faded. "My great-grandmother Inocencia is wearing a ring much like it in an old family portrait. Like so much, it was sold along the way." His fingertips traced the green stone. "I have no way of knowing if this is her ring, but if it were-"

"It means a great deal to you," Laura murmured.

His eyes twinkled at her. "You bet. It's been my own little saving account for years. Paper money is bulky and changes from country to country. I've pawned this ring a dozen times around the world."

She was outraged and closed her fist as if protecting her ring. "Bill!"

"Don't worry. It's been turned over to its final pawnbroker. I won't be redeeming it anytime in the future."

She patted his hand, deciding that was a compliment.

"It needs to be resized though. It's a bit loose," he said. "Should I keep it until we can get that done?"

She slipped it off and gave it to him. "Yes, I wouldn't want to lose it. It's my most precious possession."

"After me," he murmured, putting the ring in his pocket.

"I don't own you," she insisted.

"You own my heart," he said, taking a sip of wine and gazing over the top of his glass lovingly.

Fighting that tremor of discomfort at his open emotional display, Laura stood and held her hand out toward Bill. "Will you dance with me?" she asked, her smile quavering.

Bill enveloped her small hand in his as he rose from his chair. "Do you want me to put some music on?" he asked as he smoothly gathered her into his arms.

Laura rested her head against Bill's chest as they began to slowly sway together.

"Not really," she murmured.

"We can make our own music," he whispered near her ear, pressing a small kiss to the soft skin below her lobe.

Laura hummed in agreement. Then, she leaned back to untuck Bill's sweater and the undershirt beneath, pulling them both up and over his head in one swift, efficient action.

"You're very eager, Mrs Adams," Bill said, savoring the name.

Laura took a step back, uncertainly. She looked up at Bill's face. His eyes were twinkling in their now-familiar way.

She stepped closer again, allowing herself to relax . "And you like eager, Mr Adams?" she asked, raising her chin. She could still hear those old rebukes, even after his gratitude at her response this morning.

"No," Bill instantly denied. He grasped her by the shoulders and swung her around. His bare chest pressed against her back. His hands stroked up the sides of her body, from her hips to her underarms, and back down.

"I don't like it." He spoke directly into her ear again, sending a shiver down her spine. "I love it."

He eased off her cashmere sweater, then nimbly popped the pearl buttons of her silk blouse before slipping the top from her slack arms. He found the side zipper to her tweed skirt and it dropped to pool around her brogues.

He grumbled in the back of his throat as he struggled a bit to undo her bra's hooks.

"Let me," she said huskily, reaching back to snap it easily.

"How can you gals do that?"

"More practice," she said, shimmying out of her panties and kicking off her shoes and socks, grateful for the fire's warmth. "Very eager," she said, shivering nonetheless as she turned to enter her husband's embrace again.

Laura tilted her head, fascinated by the way his olive complexion shone in the firelight. Her hand wandered across his skin, entranced by the stark contrast of her soft pale hand against his dark hard muscles.

She let her hand drift lower - to the waistband of his pants.

Bill suppressed a sharp groan as her fingers lightly teased just above the belt of his trousers. He concentrated on keeping still, allowing her to set the pace with her new found confidence and experience.

Laura lifted her hands away and instead circled around Bill's body until she stood behind him. She explored the broadness of his back, pushing her thumbs over each vertebra, then scratching her nails up and down the flesh either side, just hard enough to leave small marks that glowed first white, then red. Dipping her head, she soothed the scars with her mouth and tongue.

As Bill moaned her name, she nuzzled his back and locked her arms around him, unbuckling his belt and lowering his fly.

She kept pressing hot hard kisses onto his back as she considered the feel of the wiry hairs she had exposed to her touch. There he was, hard and hot in her hand, ready again. She sagged against his broad back, warm like a sun-heated stone.

Bill fought for control as her hand stroked him as he'd shown her this morning. The possibilities of love-making with this woman-with his wife-tumbled through his mind. In his life, he'd had good-natured, generous woman who'd taught him many carnal delights. Giselle, in Marseilles, who'd be waiting on the docks when his ship docked, waving her bright pick scarf. But he'd find blond stubble in the shaving mug she gave him in the morning. Or Anna, in Naples, whose green sloe eyes were looking at other men even when they were out together. He knew these were not women to marry, but women to enjoy for what they offered.

Instead, he married a good woman, with her teasing laugh and fluttering downcast eyelashes. He'd learned on their honeymoon, it was not an act. She had no interest in enjoyment between their two bodies. Only a comfortable home, his steady paycheck, and two sons she could love with a possessive ardor.

Laura's hand stole below his shaft to tentatively explore the tightening flesh beneath it. He groaned in encouragement, his head lolling back to expose his neck to her seeking mouth and nipping teeth.

But this woman... This wife...

"Laura...I'd like to..."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked quickly, her voice filled with excitement.

"I want you to lie down for me." He gently helped her recline on the couch. "All day, I've been thinking about this," he said, lifting her foot to kiss the arch before beginning to nuzzle his way up her leg.

She stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the feel of his lips tracing along her limbs. "I've been thinking about this all day too-" She gulped when he crouched on the floor before her and draped her legs over his shoulders. Was he going to do what she thought he was going to do?

Only one man had tried this with her. The evening had been ill-fated in so many ways. She'd gone to a party at the home of her old college chum, Marcie. It had been too soon after the deaths of her father and sisters, but she'd wanted to get out, try to block out her pain. She'd drank too much champagne; that's why she couldn't stand a drop now. Marcie had tipped her head toward the handsome young man in the corner.

Too young. But the champagne made her feel young and foolish.

Until he'd said, "Miss Roslin?"

"Sean?" He'd been a student at one of her schools for the poor.

She should have told him how grown up he was or asked him about his plans now that he was out of college, but instead, she'd invited him back to her home.

And he'd accepted. The big house, dark and quiet, the servants all in bed. His sloppy kisses, ardent and frenzied, between telling her how he'd always wanted her, always dreamed of doing this to her... This specifically, as he'd pushed up her skirt and pulled down her panties, his mouth settling there.

It had felt invasive and wrong, lips and teeth where they did not belong. Fortunately, he still remembered the patroness' sharp tone meant to stop being a bad boy. She'd managed to get him to leave with a minimum of embarrassment for both; mention of a champagne headache, a vague promise to call, no need to give her his number, he was in the book surely. And then she told Emily to take no messages from a Sean Ellison.

Now Bill's mouth was there, bringing back those unpleasant memories.

But he wasn't aggressive. His warm breath wafted across her flesh, his now familiar fingers brushing lightly through her folds, retracing the paths he'd discovered this morning. He found that special spot, rolling it lightly between his thumb and forefinger until she couldn't hold in the moan.

She arched off the couch, meeting his mouth unintentionally. The flat of his tongue licked up, meeting his fingers to suckle on the nub, swelling already. His finger slid inside, caressing her walls until her moan turned to a deep, heartfelt groan.

He suckled at her more strongly, tugging and pulling with his lips. His first finger was joined by another, surging into her body.

Her fingers buried in his hair as her hips thrust against his face unabashedly. She babbled incoherent encouragement and her limbs began to quake. It wasn't just her body shattering; it was her past fragmenting, and falling to dust.

Bill stood, grinning down at her. The fire's dying light flickered orange over his skin. His pants still hung open, his need obvious.

Laura opened her arms. "Where are you?" she scolded softly.

He slid into her embrace; into her body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, tightening, holding him deep within her, pushing his pants down with her heels.

"I'm right here. Right here, darling."


	12. Chapter 12

Her eyes still squeezed shut, Laura fumbled with her hand around the bed. Empty. She listened. No shower was running, nor did she hear his attempts at being quiet moving around. No smell of cooking bacon or brewing coffee rose from below.

Then she heard Jake barking frantically outside.

With a prickle of concern, she opened her eyes to look at the clock. Eight AM. She groaned and snagged the satin robe at the end of the bed.

Going to the window, she flung the curtains open as one would tear off a sticky bandage. The sun poured in, making her blink.

Jake was running back and forth on the lake shore, still barking. Laura noticed the family's bath house, a curtained structure with a bright red roof and mounted on pontoons, was now moored offshore. Had Bagot thought they'd want to go for a swim...

A now achingly familiar form came out through the fluttering white curtains, wearing swim trunks. He must have found Uncle Donald's suit; that was the only pair that would fit her new husband, and they still appeared snug.

He dove neatly off the bathhouse's edge and began to swim strongly into deeper water.

Sighing to herself, Laura sought out her own swimsuit and bathing cap.

~~AV~~

His head popping out of the water like a dark seal, Bill waved to Laura when she reached the water's edge. Slipping her foot out of its sandal, she gingerly poked one toe into the water. Seeing his master, Jake sat, slowly wagging his tail, stirring the sand.

Laura gave her husband a small impassive smile, and began to stroll along the shore, toeing the sand and kicking the pebbles that gathered there.

He pistoned with his legs until he was closer to the shore.

"Are you always so energetic in the mornings?" she grumbled.

He chuckled. "No," he lowered his voice suggestively, "I've felt particularly refreshed the last few days. Are you coming in?"

Stepping out of her sandals, Laura shuffled into the shallows. "It's a little chilly for me I think."

"It's not that cold," he assured her. "Besides, I'll warm you up."

Laura gave a small laugh at Bill's feeble attempt of persuasion. The cool water lapping at her thighs made a much more compelling case.

She wrapped her goose pimpled arms tightly around herself. "That's okay, darling. I'll wait until you get out."

Bill glanced back over his shoulder. "Why don't we swim out to the bathing house and back? That'll get your blood flowing."

Laura looked out to where the pontoon-mounted structure was anchored, shuddering at the distance between it and the shore.

She turned back to Bill, envious of the easy way he'd been treading water, like swimming was the most natural thing in the world.

He wasn't there.

"Bill!" she cried, wading in until the water splashed at her abdomen.

A hand gripped her ankle, then slid up her calf. The hand's owner broke through the surface in front of her, grinning widely.

Bill scooped Laura up into his arms to drag her into the water with him. It was her fault, looking so delicious in her swimming costume.

"Bill!" she screeched again.

He bent his head to nibble on her neck, obsessed by the elegant display the bathing cap was creating. "Yeah?" he asked, moving back into deeper water to escape the fresh breeze that was blowing off the mountains.

"Bill-please-I can't touch."

His groin reacted to the desperate tone in her voice. "I thought we'd established you can touch all you want," he pointed out but yelped as her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Bill! I can't touch!" she repeated urgently.

"I've got you." Bill held her tight, rubbing soothing circles across her back, her plea finally registering. "You can't swim, honey?" he guessed.

Laura shook her head in confirmation.

"I'm sorry for being a jerk." He kissed her forehead gently. "I just assumed. Having this place on the lake and everything."

Even though Laura trusted Bill wouldn't attempt to push her under as Cousin Donnie used to before her father stepped in, she still clung to him tightly, her fingers gripping the thick muscles of his neck.

"You certainly look the part," he rasped, dipping his head to lick the droplets of water from her decolletage.

"Mother didn't think swimming was a skill a lady needed. She would forbid me to go out in the sun, saying I would burn and freckle like some farm girl. And after she died-" Laura shivered delicately in his arms, "-I guess it was too late. I was too scared to go out any further than my waist."

"All sailors know how to swim." He held her close, dropping small kisses along her jawline. "I've got you," he repeated, his voice drugging her along with the intoxicating feel of the water swirling around and between their bodies. "Relax," he murmured.

Laura wasn't relaxed. Through the thin mountain air, she could hear voices in the distance; her neighbors out for a morning walk. They couldn't do _this_ here. She felt out of control. Yet that feeling was intoxicating as well. Besides, she was safe in Bill's arms.

"I like the how the water feels on my bare skin. You?" Bill slid first one strap of her swimsuit down her arm, then the other. Her pretty breasts floated on the surface, drifting toward his chest enticingly. He massaged them together, bringing them up out of the water just enough so he could suckle both her nipples into his mouth at once.

Laura groaned throatily, her legs snaking around Bill's waist, drawing him tightly against her. She told herself it was just so she would stay afloat.

The voices seemed to grow louder. Jake's yapping echoed through the trees as he ran off in search of a friendly human to play with.

"Bill...we can't..." she insisted weakly. She whimpered as he began to caress her through the thin material of the swimsuit.

Despite the chill in the water, she could feel the heat rising up from the pores of his skin, and permeating into hers. She was hot, panting, wanting him more than anything.

Bill took her hand and guided it down to where his thick erection poked out the top of his trunks. She clasped it firmly, sliding up and down its wet length.

He threw his head back, shutting his eyes, his breathing deepening. He floated on his back, providing a sturdy raft for her to cling to.

As Laura continued to stroke Bill, she managed to shimmy out of her swimsuit. It drifted in the water behind them.

Grinning, he asked, "What cha doin'?" even as he righted himself in the water and pushed off his trunks so that they popped up beside Laura. He opened his arms, and she floated into his embrace.

"I'm doing this..." she murmured. Grasping his shoulder with one hand, she kept her other on his erection to guide it into her.

The chattering voices grew louder again. Frantic to hurry, Laura pulled herself up and then pushed down against Bill, wanting that feeling that came when Bill filled her. "We need to hurry this along," she gasped, lifting and lowering again, yet not finding any satisfaction. She made a pathetic mewling noise, frustrated. The voices on the shore drifted away again.

"We need some resistance," Bill said, ever practical. After all, these sorts of maneuvers only worked in blue movies.

"Hang on," he ordered. After disentangling their bodies, he guided them through the water toward the pontoon.

"Bill! Our suits!"

Bill paused and turned back, grunting as he reached for the two pieces of fabric, all the while keeping her head above water.

Now confident that he wouldn't let her drown, Laura looped her arms around his neck and giggled. "I hope we're not tiring you out too much, darling."

After passing the suits off to her, he began to paddle through the water again, Laura's body trailing out behind him like a pale cape.

"I'm sure I'll get a second wind," he puffed.

They reached the bath house. Bill placed his hands on Laura's bare bottom to push her up onto the pontoon's ladder, chuckling as she let out an indignant squeal. Mindful that there might be prying eyes viewing from shore, she made it up quickly, tossing the wet suits over the railing. He scrambled up the rungs after her, and the two of them crashed through the curtains that hung around the bath house, landing in a tangle of naked, wet limbs on the large padded lounging platform.

They burst out laughing like naughty children, then clapped their hands over their mouths when they heard the group's voices again from shore.

"Now, where were we?" Bill said as soon as they heard the voices finally fade away. Rolled onto his stomach, his sky-blue eyes sparkled wickedly at her.

Laura shivered, goose pimples breaking out over her body from his deep penetrating gaze. His large hands slowly drifted across her skin, warming her gradually. She tugged off her bathing cap, spreading her hair out in a red halo on the striped mattress.

"Aw," he said with mock dismay. "I liked the bald look on you."

In retribution, she snapped his bare buttocks with the cap.

Bucking like a wild pony, Bill said, "You're gonna pay for that," and dragged her closer.

She sank her teeth into his shoulder just hard enough, determined to get off the first blow.

Ignoring the pain, Bill husked, "Where was I? Ah, right here." He thumbed her hardened nipple, suckling its mate deep into his mouth.

"Bill...please..." Laura wrapped her legs around his hip, jerking in a poor substitute of the action she yearned for, eager to feel him inside her.

Bill looked down at her and chuckled. "You're wanton," he teased.

"Yes," she agreed, breathless.

But he wasn't going to give her relief; he had his own objectives. He noticed a droplet of water trail along her collarbone and fascinated, he followed its path with his tongue. He spotted another droplet rolling down from her stomach to her leg. He swirled his tongue around her hip to capture it, then lay back to regard her body again.

Laura watched, her mouth dry, as Bill repeated this tantalizing action over and over-on her navel, her neck, her breasts, her shoulder, her thighs, her wrist-until he settled his mouth where she was slick with moisture that had nothing to do with the lake. Her head thrashed from side to side as he once again lapped at her without restraint. She felt tension building within her. That sought-after feeling which made her limbs weak and her mind shatter started to descend...

Then, Bill stopped. He crawled back up and kissed her so deeply she could taste herself on his lips.

"Not yet, Laura. I want us to come together," he rumbled.

"Yes," she sighed, letting her thighs fall open.

He slowly entered her. They lay still for a moment, giving her a second to adjust in consideration of the stimulation she'd already had.

It didn't take long, and soon she was rocking her hips up, countering his downward thrusts.

He took control, slowing them down by lengthening his strokes. Stretching her long legs wide, he created pressure like she'd never felt before. Sparks flickered before her eyes. Gasping for air, she clawed at his body, lost in the sensations he was creating. Her inner muscles clenched around him and soon they were both uttering incoherent sounds.

Bill finally gathered speed, tucked her legs under his armpits and began pounding into Laura harder and faster. Their bodies thumped on the mattress; the entire bath house rocked in the water.

Laura tried to stop herself from falling over the edge, but the pleasure was too great. Biting her lip to stifle a scream, she shuddered uncontrollably and more moisture flooded to where she and Bill were joined. A heartbeat later, Bill roared in her ear and collapsed on top of her.

Using the last of his strength, he managed to lift his weight off her to lie flat on his back. The untethered curtains fluttered around them, letting in sunlight and the water's sparkling reflection. Bill flung his arm over his face as he fought to catch his breath.

"Oh my goodness," Laura panted. "I just realized."

"What?" Bill mumbled, unable to move.

"How are we going to get back to shore? I can't swim. And you're in no condition to drag me through the water again."

Bill chuckled. "Your concern for my fitness is touching, dear."

He finally glanced around and spotted a couple of towels. He wiped her clean first before offering her the wet bathing suit.

"Ick," she grumbled, shivering as she tugged the cold, clammy, uncooperative garment back on.

"How do you think I feel?" He gritted his teeth and pulled the damp trunks up. "My parts have been through enough in the past few minutes, and now this."

"Thank you very much." Laura sniffed and tossed her head.

He yanked her close. "I mean that in the best possible way."

She tweaked his ear. "Getting back?" she reminded him.

"I have a way to shore without using up all my precious energy on something other than being my wife's sex slave," he rasped into her ear.

"You do?"

"The same way I got this bath house here. The speed boat I towed it out with is still tied up on the port side."

She swatted him lightly and he grinned in response.

After he handed her into the boat and was untying the lines, she mused, "Perhaps we could stay here at the cabin a little longer." With the breeze ruffling his damp hair, his skin already darkening in the sun, Bill looked so comfortable in this setting. "Make it our honeymoon. You could continue to help me with my fear of water."

"Sounds good to me." His grin widened as he turned over the boat's motor and pointed its prow toward the shore.

But Bagot was waiting for them at the end of the dock, Jake patiently sitting behind him, staring at a pinecone he was waiting for someone to throw for him. First the caretaker offered them towels despite his obvious distress.

"Thank you, Bagot," said Laura, wondering if he knew what they'd been doing out there in the boat house.

Bill tossed the pinecone for Jake, who took off down the dock, his tail whirling in excitement.

"Miss-Mrs Adams, the press is outside the gates," said Bagot, twisting his cap in his hands.

"The press?" asked Bill.

"When our marriage license was filed in Reno, a reporter must have recognized the name," said Laura, shoving her feet into her sandals.

Bill helped steady her. "What name?"

"Mine, dear," she told him.

"What the hell?" he grumbled. "We're not even in San Francisco."

She tucked herself under his arm, snuggling to his warm, damp body. "I'm news. I tried to warn you-"

"How many of 'em are there?" growled Bill.

Bagot blinked. "About four cars, looks like at least ten men. One of 'em asked me for you and I tol' 'em you weren't here, but they ain't goin' anywhere."

"Do you think they know about the servants' gate?" Laura twined her fingers with Bill's and led him back toward the house. Jake bustled behind them, slobbering around his cone.

Bagot followed. "I didn't see any outside that gate, but it's just a matter of time-"

"We don't have much to pack," said Laura with determination. "We can be ready in ten minutes."

"Why don't we just go out there and tell 'em to blow off?" Bill's face was thunderous. "This was gonna be our honeymoon!"

"I'll go get your car ready," murmured Bagot, backing away from being asked to ride shotgun on Bill's assault in the intruders.

Laura quickly lay a hand on Bill's bare chest. "Darling, I'm sorry, but this is going to be part of being married to me-"

He pulled her close and murmured in her ear, "There're other things I'd much rather be doing as a married man-"

She ignored him. "We can't stay here. They'll swarm over the fence like ants; come across the lake in boats. We'll return home and invite a select group of society columnists over to meet you."

"Face the enemy on your own territory..." Bill leaned back and eyed his wife. "You ever been in the military?"

"No," she said. "Have you?" She realized she knew little about his past, and would be answering questions from the press very shortly about it. She better get a few answers!

"Navy. The Spanish-American War, the Philippine-American War, the Great War..." He ticked them off as she would mention race meets she'd attended.

They entered the house, cool after the sun's warmth. She stopped him. "All this trouble in Europe, the East... You wouldn't have to go back in the Navy, would you? If the States were to be dragged into all this-" Artlessly, she added, "I mean, at your age-"

He chuckled. "Let's not worry about it until it happens," he said evasively, mounting the stairs.

"Bill." Her tone was demanding. She wasn't accustomed to not getting what she wanted.

He paused and glanced back at her. "Let's pack, Laura. We have to go." There was no give in his voice.

She chewed her lower lip for a few moments, then followed.

~~AV~~

The Aston-Martin was packed and Jake took his station between their seats. The top was down for the ride to the city. Bagot stood on the running board as the powerful car drove through the woods to a small, side gate behind some storage sheds. The caretaker peeked over the fence.

"No sign of 'em," he said. "But they'll have spotters out on the main road."

"They'll have to catch me first," Laura said, tightening her headscarf and tugging down her driving gloves.

Bill took a hold of the glovebox handle with one hand and the armrest with the other.

Gunning the motor, Laura shot through the gateway and made a sharp turn.

But when she eased onto the lakeside highway, the lurking reporters sighted the distinctive car. Turning their own vehicles around, they gave chase.

Although she maintained the speed limit through the populated area, when she joined the interstate, she accelerated away from her pursuers. Jake hung his head out the back, his long red tongue flapped in the wind, his ears fluttering. Bill hunched down, grimly prepared for the long drive. The reporters' fleet of cars were soon left in her dust.

~~AV~~

Back in San Francisco, they stopped at the boarding house to pick Bill's things. He took another turn around the sparse room. "I think that's everything." His two battered leather bags were packed by the door. He'd stacked his books on the floor.

He turned to Mrs La Cruz, who leaned against the doorjamb, her arms crossed. "We'll send a boy for the books."

"Sure," the landlady said grudgingly, glaring at Laura.

She sat on the bed, her legs crossed. Smiling, Laura seemed not to notice the other woman's anger.

Bill held out a hand for Laura, and she rose gracefully.

"Let me take this," said Laura, picking up Jake's wicker basket and dish. "We can't forget it."

On the street, they managed to load Bill's few things in the compact trunk of the sleek roadster. Jake watched with interest as his possessions went in too.

A newspaper boy came by, calling out his midday edition's headlines. "Heiress marries sailor! Read all about it!"

Her lips tight, Laura shooed Bill into the car.

~~AV~~

The press photographers rushed forward, their flashbulbs lighting up the foggy afternoon when Laura turned the car into the garage of her mansion.

Young Jaffee slammed the large door shut behind her as soon as she cleared the threshold.

When the engine stilled, he held Laura's door open. "I'm sorry, Miss Roslin, we can't get rid of the press-"

"Of course, Jaffee," said Laura. "And please, it's Mrs Adams now."

His mouth fell open. "So it's true." The young man looked quickly at Bill, who was unloading the truck. "Sir!"

Bill nearly dropped the bags at the young man's distressed tone.

"Please, let me take those." Shamefaced, young Jaffee gathered up the bags and the dog's things.

"Yes, please take those upstairs," Laura said, looping her arm through Bill's.

Smiling at his new wife, Bill decided to let the boy do the carrying; he had the most precious cargo. Jake scurried after them as they went through the door into the foyer.

They pulled up short. All the servants were lined up, waiting. Tom Zarek stood before them, his hands clasped behind his back, a small smile on his lips.

"Mr and Mrs Adams, I presume?" he said jollily.

Laura's grip tightened on Bill's arm.

"That's right," Bill said evenly.

Laura stepped forward. "A welcome party. How thoughtful." But it was Elosha she looked to, not her business manager.

The old nanny offered her hands for Laura to clasp. "I'm so happy for you, Miss Laura," she said, her voice sincere. She did not look at Bill, though.

"Of course, Elosha must know Mr Adams very well. Miss Laura would never marry without her approval," Tom said, catching the maid's conflicted mood.

"We weren't formally introduced," Bill said, his lips quirking.

The old woman narrowed her eyes at him, then gave the tiniest nod, conceding the point. "Welcome home, Mr. Adams."

"Thanks, Elosha. I'll try to stay out of your hair."

"Jaffee, why don't you introduce everyone to Mr Adams," said Laura, taking control of the uncomfortable event.

"Of course, Mis-Madam," the elderly man said, stepping forward. He bowed slightly at the waist. "Jaffee, sir."

He started at the end of the line with the lowest servants. "Bridgette, sir, parlor maid."

Bill extended his hand, and blushing furiously, the young woman shook it, her mad cap of dark curls bobbing.

Jaffee glared at her awfully and she shrank from his gaze.

Perplexed, Bill smiled kindly at the girl, and she blinked, melting under his warm gaze.

"Hope I can be of service, sir," she murmured.

Young Jaffee clattered down the stairs to take a spot beside her. He shot the young woman a pointed look. She raised her chin and turned away from him.

"Young Jaffee, sir," said old Jaffee. "Footman."

And on down the line, shaking hands with everyone, despite Jaffee's barely contained distress. The process reminded Bill of reviewing his crew on a new vessel. He had to refrain from saluting but he'd always found that giving each sailor a few moments of personal attention started the relationship off right.

Zarek stood by Laura's secretary. "And Emily, Mrs Adams' old college chum, must have known all about this development, the sly minx."

Emily was staring, and didn't even register his insults. She remembered the sort of men Laura had dated in college-Stanford men and Berkeley boys... But this man didn't even look as though he'd graduated high school.

"Emily, we need to organize a meeting with the press at once." Laura checked her watch. "We have a few hours to catch the evening edition."

"Yes, Ma'am." Emily dashed to the hall table and found a pad and pencil in the drawer.

Finally at the end of the line, Bill drawled, "And you must be Zarek," to the Business Manager.

"Why, yes I am," said Tom, unsure under Adams' glare.

Laura began to pace, giving orders to her secretary. "Let's have the City Gang over, of course. Surely they'll do a segment for their radio show, and we need it to be positive."

Emily wrote quickly on the paper. "Patricia Palacios also does the Tribune's social column. She'll be two for one."

Laura nodded. "And naturally, Herb Caen from the Examiner."

Her secretary glanced up. "I saw that curly-haired boy outside-Caen must not be here."

"Get him here," said Laura sharply. "I don't want the second string."

Bill watched all this, astonished.

Laura turned to him and gave him a bright smile. "Dear, why don't you go settle into your room and freshen up before the press is allowed in."

"Sure," he said slowly.

"Jaffee, please show Mr Adams his room," said Laura, her attention already back to her arrangements.

"Of course, Madam," the old gentleman said with great satisfaction. "Sir, if you will come this way."

The tall butler mounted the grand stairs. Bill followed, Jake at his heels.

On the landing, Jaffee led him to the second door, and opened it for Bill.

He walked in, looking around at the darkly paneled room with a large walnut suite of furniture dominating it. Deep green velvet curtains shielded the windows.

Jaffee opened another door. "Young Jaffee has put your garments in here, Mr Adams." The butler actually openly showed an emotion-dismay-when he only saw Bill's brown suit and robe hanging in the dressing room.

The butler moved on. "And the facilities are through here." He opened another door.

"Thanks," said Bill, overwhelmed.

His two leather valises, emptied of their clothes and toiletries, sat by the bed. Jake's bed was in the corner. The dog hopped in, made three turns and lay down.

"Sure can't imagine Mrs Adams liking this sort of room," Bill mused.

"Mrs Adams' room is adjacent," Jaffee said delicately.

"Oh. I see," said Bill, not seeing at all.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, thanks."

The butler backed wordlessly out the room. Stunned, Bill sank down on the edge of the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Laura poked her head into Bill's dressing room. "Oh, here you are, darling."

Bill had showered and shaved again after the dusty car ride, and was now studying the myriad of shelves and drawers in his dressing room, wondering what man could have enough clothes and accessories to fill them.

Laura glanced around the room too, noting the amount of empty slots where shoes and hats should be kept, and the rows of empty hangers lacking day suits and evening wear.

"Why don't we go shopping in the morning? Let me buy you a new wardrobe befitting the husband of a millionairess."

She said it lightly, but Bill stiffened as Laura suggested she pay for the shopping trip, and his anger mounted at the thought that his clothes should fit in with hers.

"I like my clothes," he grumbled. "I've been living in a bunk and a locker for forty-five years, Laura." He looked around the large dressing room suspiciously. "Could fit my whole world in one of these shelves."

Hearing the warning in his voice, she hurried to his side. "Yes, of course! Whatever makes you comfortable." She ran her hand down the sleeve of his suit jacket. "Blue is such a lovely color on you." She glanced around again. "And I haven't seen you in the brown suit yet. I'm sure it's very nice."

He knew he was being patronized, but he knew her heart was in the right place. Slipping an arm around her waist, he drew her closer. "I love seeing what new frock you'll wear next. It's like a fashion parade."

She blushed and pleated her skirt with her fingers. "This old thing?"

He nuzzled her neck. "I gotta admit, my favorite outfit of yours is bare skin." His fingers went to the pearl buttons down the front of her dress.

She grasped his wrist. "Darling, later. We need to go downstairs."

He started to protest, then noted her steely eyes. He'd seen that expression in many of his commanding officers. Resisting the urge to salute, he merely followed her from the dressing room, enjoying the view of her swaying hips.

But he had to stop her in the bedroom.

"About this two bedrooms thing. Married couples share a bed, no matter if they've been fighting or not. That's how you stay married," he'd grumbled as he looked around the darkly masculine bedroom. "In the same bed."

Confused, Laura furrowed her brow. "But my parents had separate rooms. All my married friends do as well."

"What's the point of being married then?"

She snuggled up to him again. "We visit when the mood strikes us."

He wouldn't be diverted. "I just got married. The mood strikes me all the time," blustered Bill.

"Lovely," said Laura, patting his chest.

Despite the fact they were alone, Bill pulled her closer and lowered his voice. "Everyone will know."

"Know what?" she whispered back.

"That we're making love," he murmured.

"We are still on our honeymoon," Laura pointed out practically. "It's to be expected."

He frowned, still not pleased. "Speaking of a honeymoon, we should go away after putting on this dog and pony show-"

She wrapped her arms around his solid middle. "Oh yes, Bill, let's. Where should you like to go?"

"Somewhere where we share a room."

"You have a one track mind," she said with satisfaction.

"Damn right," he grumbled. Then he eyed her. "Someplace where we have nothing to do but read and make love."

"Not very specific."

"I need my wife there, that's all," Bill said definitely, nuzzling her cheek.

"I'll have Emily make some arrangements, getting us away from..." she said delicately.

"All this," he grumbled, squaring his shoulders. "Come on. The sooner we get started the sooner it will be done."

Laura turned to leave the bedroom when she noticed Bill had set out several photo frames across the top of his bedroom's bureau.

She slipped her glasses out from where she had them hidden in the folds of her skirt, and balanced them on the edge of her nose to get a better look at the photographs. Two young men, each handsome in his own way, wearing the uniforms of Naval Academy midshipmen.

"My sons, Lee and Zak." Bill pointed out which son was which.

"I can see more resemblance in Zak," she decided. "Lee must take more after his mother. She was fair?"

Bill could show Laura Carolanne's exact coloring. He had several photos of her, including their wedding one. He'd decided it was for the best not to put them on display. Instead, he'd carefully placed them in the bottom drawer of the bureau under his thick fisherman's sweater. He didn't want Laura to think she needed to ever play second fiddle to a first wife.

"Yeah, blonde," he confirmed. "He does have my eyes," he said proudly, hoping to change the subject away from his dead wife.

Laura turned and kissed the tip of his nose. "You have beautiful eyes, darling." She secreted her glasses away again and _her_ eyes became determined. "Let's go."

They walked down the winding staircase arm in arm. A cluster of photographers was at the foot of the stairs, their flashbulbs going off. Bill gritted his teeth, hoping it looked like a smile.

Emily held the study door open for their entrance.

A general buzz of interest spread throughout the journalists gathered. They openly stared at Bill as he walked in with a proprietary arm around Laura's waist, a gesture much more intimate than accepted in high society.

"Hello everyone," Laura greeted the throng, lowering herself gracefully into the chair behind her desk.

Bill chose to stand, his hands gripping the back of Laura's chair. He lowered his gaze to Laura's shoulder, not particularly interested in making eye contact with any of these 'newsmen'.

"I've called everyone in to confirm that the rumors circulating are true." Laura glanced down at her ring. "I'm now an old married woman."

The reporters chortled politely at her attempt of humor.

"And I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my husband - Mr William Adams. Yes, it has been a whirlwind romance."

Laura glanced up at Bill. He looked like a man about to be dragged off to the electric chair, not the happy newlywed at all.

Maybe she should try to get him to interact with them.

"I'm sure you all have some questions for us?"

"Just what do you do, Mr Adams?"

Bill glared at the thin blonde woman lounging in one of leather chairs like she owned the joint. In her dark blue skirt and blouse with a fox stole looped around her shoulders, she wasn't exactly how he imagined a reporter should look. He was expecting men in crumpled clothing and out of shape hats. She uncrossed and crossed her legs as she spoke, showing off a little too much of her sheer black stockings than was necessary.

"I'm retired," he said shortly.

Patricia Palacios' eyes flicked around the room, taking in the priceless artwork, the solid furniture, the antiques being used as paperweights. "I'm sure," she drawled.

"I was retired before I met Laura!" he protested, his hands tightening on Laura's chair back until the chair trembled.

Laura reached back and patted his hand, her social smile remaining fixed to her face.

Patricia smirked; she'd found a touchy subject.

Emily stood near the doorway, taking notes for Mrs Adams' records. If the press took anything out of context, they'd soon receive a call from Mrs Adams' lawyers. Tom Zarek stood beside her, grinning broadly at Adams' discomfort.

"Do you intend to take up a position within Roslin Industries. Mr Adams?" one of the other reporters asked from behind Patricia's chair.

Laura jumped in before he could say anything. They certainly hadn't discussed this topic but she didn't want him to feel like he was useless. "Naturally, I would like my husband to become involved in all aspects of my life."

Emily felt Tom Zarek stiffen beside her. She took great pains to act like she was concentrating on her shorthand, while gleefully noting the increasing vexation of the General Manager of Roslin Industries. He wasn't so amused by this line of questioning.

Bill smiled down at Laura. "I'll help out if you need me, darling." Another camera flashed and he blinked rapidly.

A high-voiced man in a loudly-patterned tie tossed out a question. "What areas of expertise can a retired sailor offer Roslin Industries, Mr Adams?"

Laura kept trying to smooth the situation over: "My husband can play a role in any aspect of my life. My charity work, for instance Perhaps Bill and I can create a charity to house old mariners."

"And you've started already," said Patricia, smirking wider.

This wasn't going as well as Laura had hoped. If Bill continued to glower at the entire room they'd never understand just how charming he could be. She heard the clatter of nails outside the study. Young Jaffee was taking Jake for a walk.

"Please, meet another new member of our family," she said with forced joviality. "Jaffee, let Jake loose." After all, everyone liked dogs.

The young footman obeyed and the shepherd bustled in, sniffing everyone before rushing to his master. Bill gave his first sincere smile, but no one bothered to take a picture.

"You wanna go for a run, boy? I know how you feel," he rumbled.

"So you've acquired a mutt?" said Patricia innocently.

Gritting her teeth in the semblance of a grin, Laura waded back in. "Next question?"

It was finally over. Emily ushered the press corps from the study. Zarek followed, chatting intimately with a small knot of them. Bill watched him, eyes narrowed.

Laura leaned on his shoulder and sighed deeply.

"Don't ever let me do that again," he said.

She patted his chest and tried to sound confident. "You just need more practice, dear."

Jaffee delivered the evening editions with their supper, doom written all over his face.

Laura thanked him and flipped open the first newspaper. "Dear, did you manage to reach Saul on the telephone?" she asked Bill.

Bill thumbed through the paper he'd grabbed. "Nope. Left a message with his hotel. Lunch tomorrow. High noon."

Furrowing her brow at Bill's choice of words, she spotted the first story. Oh dear. Hopefully his paper had better coverage...

But when she looked down the table, Bill's face was thunderous.

She tried to lighten his reaction. "Really, darling, if you look at the situation, it's sort of funny-"

"Local Millionairess Marries the Mysterious Man in Blue," he read aloud. The accompanying photographs showed him escorting her out of The Garden Court restaurant, pulling up to the mansion in Laura's car-she looking wild-eyed and he terrified-and posing on the stairs for the photographers, all in the identical blue suit.

He closed the paper; he didn't need to read anymore.

Laura sipped her water nervously.

"Why don't we go on that shoppin' trip you were talking about? Before having your family over for afternoon tea tomorrow."

"Oh, Bill!" she squealed, "I know just the tailor for you! And you'll look so wonderful in tweed-"

"And I'm payin' the bill myself-"

"Darling, it's my treat-"

"I'm paying." He started to slice his steak, the subject closed.

Realizing he'd probably reached the end of his rope, Laura murmured, "Yes, dear," and carefully cut her potato.

~~AV~~

The door to Laura's bedroom opened. She affected a coy look of surprise in the mirror; she'd been waiting, finding things to do like remove her makeup.

"Oh, it's you," she said to Elosha.

The maid raised her eyebrows. "And a good evening to you." She roamed the room, picking up Laura's discarded garments.

Although the older woman didn't say a word, Laura sensed her disapproval. Turning on her stool, she asked, "Well?"

Elosha didn't look at Laura. Instead, she focused on the hem of Laura's brown herringbone skirt, frowning at the sight of slight fraying. "I didn't say anything," she mused.

"I know. You haven't said anything about my marriage."

"I wished you happiness."

"I know it seems sudden."

The old nanny chuckled. "No, it's been thirty years in the making."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that you're choosy, that's all," reassured Elosha, her dark eyes twinkling.

As she passed through the doorway into Laura's dressing room, she added, "But mark my words. That man will give you nothing but trouble," because the bossy old woman always had to have the last word.

As if she were ten years old again and had been told she could not have ice cream after dinner, Laura stuck her tongue out at the maid's retreating back just as Bill opened the door.

"Would you rather be alone?" he said, unsure.

Laura laughed to herself. "Of course not."

When he stepped into the room, Elosha reappeared. "I'll be going," she said, heading toward the bedroom door with her head held high.

"Good night," said Bill.

Surprised, she paused. "Good night, Mr Adams," she said before slipping around the door.

Seeing Elosha's stiff spine, Bill decided he was going to need to do some charming in that quarter. He'd certainly try harder with this woman he could see was important to his bride than he had with those reporters.

He looked around the room. Where his room was dark, hers was all light, from the white carpet to the shell pink satin coverlet to the pale yellow plaster walls festooned with fleur de lis patterns. "Real pretty. Feminine."

"Thank you," said Laura. "It's my favorite room in the house."

Noticing him still lingering, she suggested he get in bed.

"Oh yes! Of course!" After pulling his glasses from the pocket, Bill shed his bulky brown robe, revealing striped pajamas. Laura made a mental note to outfit her husband in new nightwear as well.

"Can I read _The Big Sleep_?" he asked, seeing it on the beside table.

Laura had been expected him to be excited for something more than reading. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as she looked at him in the mirror. But she said, "Please go ahead, my place is marked."

"Thanks." He flipped the cover open and propped the glasses onto his nose.

After giving a shrug, she returned to her bedtime preparations.

Even as he read, Bill watched his wife's rituals out of the corner of his eye. She carefully applied lotion to her face and neck, then examined her face critically. She moved onto filing her nails.

 _I sat on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble. She was stretched out on a modernistic chaise-lounge with her slippers off, so I stared at her legs in the sheerest silk stockings. They seemed to be arranged to stare at._

Laura pushed up her nightgown's hem and smoothed lotion on her long legs. The light lavender scent wafted across the room at him. He forced his gaze back to the page.

 _They were visible to the knee and one of them well beyond. The knees were dimpled, not bony and sharp. The calves were beautiful, the ankles long and slim and with enough melodic line for a tone poem. She was tall and rangy and strong looking._

"Hope I'm not boring you," Laura drawled, flipping her head over to brush her hair from the roots forward.

Bill cleared his throat as he watched the auburn waves ripple. "No, no, take your time," he said. "I've got this plan, you see."

"A plan." She righted herself and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I'll just come every night. That way the servants can't guess," he said smugly. Then less confidently, "I don't want to press my attentions on you."

She rose from the vanity, lamplight outlining her curves through her rose-colored satin negligee. "Wouldn't want that," she murmured, wandering to the bed.

He peered at her over the top of his glasses. "You're in charge, darling," he said seriously.

"Oh good," she said, fighting a smile. She could be serious too.

Flipping the bedding back, she crawled in beside him. "In that case, I'd like to snuggle."

"Snuggling it is," he said, lifting his arm so she could lie under it. He returned to reading his book, apparently content.

Laura had other ideas. She began to slowly unbutton his pajama top.

He peeked at her around the book cover. "I thought you wanted to snuggle."

She pressed his book back upright. "Keep reading. I just want to explore my new husband without any distractions."

There was a seductive darkness in her voice that made Bill's breath hitch. He concentrated on the dancing words of the page.

Her lips suckled on first one flat nipple, then the next, her tongue playing with the nub. His grip tightened on the suddenly sweaty book jacket.

Her mouth and teeth nibbled around his broad torso, exploring, discovering, murmuring to herself.

"What?" he finally asked, curious and aroused.

"Oh nothing. Just talking to myself." She was warning him off.

He forced his gaze back to his reading but couldn't keep his hand from dancing on her shoulder and weaving through her hair.

She pushed the covers down, revealing the bulge in his pajama bottoms, the fly gaping. Humming in the back of her throat, she undid the tie at the waist and nudged the waistband lower until she found dark hair and heat rising from his straining flesh.

Although he was fastidious-she could smell the soap on his skin-there was also the now familiar musk when she moved closer to the junction of his thighs. His erection was lazily bobbing, still not completely engorged. She stroked it lightly, but continued to kiss around his groin and thighs, marveling that a man with so much hair on his head could be have so little on his body. Not that she minded.

Feeling daring, she kissed his shaft on the head, tasting the drop of liquid clinging there. Salty...

He gasped and the book rattled in his hands.

She remembered her 'research materials'... This was something done by women as well... But would he enjoy it?

"Do you want me to..." she asked, breathless.

He put aside his book and glasses with shaking hands. Forcing his voice to be casual, he said, "Only if you want to-"

Grinning, she engulfed his length. Once she'd done that, she wasn't sure what to do next. She sucked to see what would happen-there was an instant reaction. He made an intriguing sound, almost like a whimpering kitten, at the back of his throat. Her big strong man-his thick thigh quivered under her free hand-was reduced to jelly. She liked that-he'd had too much control over her body so far.

Her giggle reverberated through his flesh.

"Oh damn, Laura...Oh...I won't be able to last long if you keep doing that..."

What had she done? She wasn't sure what she was doing correctly, but she'd keep trying. His flesh was continuing to swell and harden in her mouth, and she had to be careful not to gag.

She found she could control the angle with her hand at the base and that she could also stroke as her mouth rose and fell. His moans matched her rhythm. He didn't thrust into her throat; his body was almost rigid as he fought for control. Only his hand cupped the back of her head lightly, brushing her hair back so he could watch.

She dared to glance up. He was watching her through half-closed eyes, his mouth slack. He was rolling his head from side to side as though shaking it in disbelief.

Her hand stole down to heft the sac below his length, now tightening against his groin.

His voice became urgent. "Gonna...Laura...you've gotta-" Half-rising from the pillows, he tugged on her shoulder.

Thinking she was hurting him, she reluctantly slurped up one last time, suckling at the tip before releasing him.

He fell back with a relieved groan, his hips jerking into her grip as he found his release, all while babbling praise to her. Cradling her head on her arm, she simply watched, fascinated.

When he finally relaxed on the cushions, catching his breath, she hopped out of bed and went to her bathroom for a towel. He thanked her and quickly cleaned up. She slid back into bed and tucked herself under his arm.

"That was amazing," she said.

"That's supposed to be my line," he noted, kissing her temple.

"I had no idea what would happen," she confessed.

"You haven't done that before?" He didn't want to quiz her too closely on her past encounters, sensing this would not be a conversation that would end well, but curiosity drove him to ask.

"No!" She smiled smugly. "But it seemed to go well. The pictures only tell you so much."

"What pictures?" he asked, still inquisitive.

Her hand, which had been making comforting circles on his belly, stilled. "Um..."

He hooted. "So the hoity-toity look at nudey magazines too?"

"I do not!" She sat up, indignant. "It's artwork!"

Snorting, he put his hands behind his head. "Is that what the upper crust call it?"

"I'll show you," she said, sliding out of the bed and snagging her satin robe. "Come on!" She motioned for him to join her.

Groaning, he fastened his pajama pants and crawled out of the bed. Pulling on his robe, he followed her out of the bedroom.


	14. Chapter 14

Laura opened a heavy door, and flicked on the room's lights. She hurried across the thick Oriental carpet but Bill stopped in the doorway, dumbstruck. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling oak shelving filled with books. Thousands and thousands of books. His childhood home had overflowed with books, volumes stacked on the floor when the bookcases could hold no more, but this was like going to the public library. The scent of calfskin covers and musty pages filled his senses.

"Bill, come on!" Laura hissed, motioning with her hand.

"What's going on?" He strode to her side.

She looked over his shoulder before turning back to a glass-doored case. Retrieving a key from her robe's pocket, she unlocked the door. "Here," she whispered furtively. She handed Bill a large, heavy portfolio tied closed with a thick red cord.

"Madam? Sir? May I bring you some tea?"

Laura gave a small scream.

Shocked, Bill juggled the portfolio, nearly dropping it. "What the hell?" he said, then spotted Jaffee in the library doorway.

Laura recovered. "Oh, no, Jaffee," she said. "We were just fetching a book to read before bed."

Old Jaffee's gaze fell on the large object in Bill's hands and shifted to the formally locked cabinet, now standing ajar. He bowed slightly. "As you wish, Madam. Sir. Good evening." With great dignity, he retreated.

As soon as he was gone, Laura burst into a fit of giggles.

Bill tucked the portfolio under his arm and grabbed her hand. "Come on," he growled, trying not to laugh himself.

Back in the bedroom, Bill ordered her, "Lock that door. No more servants popping in."

"Elosha has the key," pointed out Laura, ever practical.

"We'll have the few seconds it takes her to open the door!" He sat atop the coverlet, piling pillows behind his back. He patted the bed. "Come on, show me all your secrets."

After latching the door, Laura sat stiffly on the edge of the mattress. She wasn't sure if she wanted to expose this much to Bill right now, particularly when there was so much laughter in his eyes.

"It's not my secret," she said, her spine ramrod. "After my family died, and I inventoried the library, I found that portfolio in the cabinet. I assume it was my Uncle Rufus'. He's a old dog," she added frankly. "But certainly not my father's!"

Bill thought about those separate bedrooms and kept his opinion to himself. He undid the cord around the leather portfolio with the same slow seductive motion as he'd undo her robe's sash. As though reading his mind, she clutched her robe's collar up around her neck.

"Oh, boy!" he said as he flipped the cover back. The first image was vivid, beautifully rendered in rich colors and details. Lots of detail. "Boy..." he repeated, humor gone.

He'd seen this type of erotic print while stopping in Japan, often at the bookshops and antique shops he frequented; the shop owners assumed that's what the Westerner was there for. But these were of a much finer quality than anything he'd ever seen, rendered on silk in delicate paint, then mounted on thin cardboard to be stored in the portfolio.

"Yes, I know what you mean!" Laura breathed, her inhibitions fleeing. She leaned closer. "How do they do that!?"

"Not sure," Bill admitted. "Maybe you'd have to be younger than us," he joked.

She laughed along with him and slid across the bed to make herself more comfortable, snuggling between his back and the pillows.

He turned the page.

"They're using their mouths at the same time there." Laura frowned at the way the woman was balancing over her lover, yet able to still give him pleasure. "What if I was so overwhelmed that I collapsed on top of you?"

"I'd probably be too overwhelmed myself at the time to care."

"Bill, I'm serious. My legs become so shaky during that time."

He found one of her thighs under her robe, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure that's the whole idea. We can it do it lying down though, if you're worried. Side by side."

Laura was onto a new concern. "I just assume I look a total mess...During," she admitted. "But these ladies' elaborate hair-dos are so perfectly coiffed!"

"I guess that's what makes it art," he said, turning one picture slightly to try and determine what was going on. He shot her a quick, affectionate look. "And I'd rather have your 'mess' anytime."

"You're so sweet," she said, wrapping her arms around his wide shoulders.

She gave an anxious hum as he turned the page again to a painting that had always confused as well as fascinated her.

"This thing with the octopus!"

Sweat broke out on Bill's forehead as he examined the picture of a reclining woman in ecstasy with a giant octopus, his beak between her legs and his tentacles swirling around her breasts and limbs.

"I guess it's supposed to be symbolic of somethin' else, if you know what I mean."

"But an octopus beak is very sharp," she insisted. "You are so gentle. This just doesn't look pleasurable at all."

"Just keep telling me what you like." He quickly flipped over to the next plate. He'd imagined looking at these pictures would lead to some frisky fun, but instead, he was finding himself in the role of confused professor with a very curious student.

She leaned over his shoulder to see the new image. "And that doesn't seem sanitary at all!" She wrinkled her nose. "Or comfortable."

Wiping his brow, Bill tried to explain. "It's not going in there. It's going in the regular place."

"But in that position, like two dogs?" She cocked her head.

"It can be... Nice. Different."

He tried to turn the page, but she held the paper down, frowning. "We'll have to try that," she said briskly. "See what I think."

The next page was blank. Bill wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset.

"Well... Uh... That was interesting," he finally said, closing the cover.

"Yes, wasn't it?" she said in a high, uncomfortable voice.

He placed the portfolio along with his glasses onto the bedside table while Laura rearranged the pillows and pulled the coverlet out from under them. She then switched off the lights before lowering herself into the bed beside him.

Disappointingly, she didn't snuggle into him.

"Laura?"

"Yeah?"

Her voice seemed distant, though she was so close.

"You're tired?"

"Not really. I thought you were."

Bill _was_ tired. But sleep wasn't going to come quickly with so many erotic images of Laura, now robed in an elaborate kimono, floating in his brain. He wondered if she had a kimono... Surely she did...

"You've never looked at those prints with anyone else?"

"No! Of course not! Only by myself!"

Bill's hand crept over until he gripped her wrist, rubbing his thumb along her soft skin.

"What with all the months at sea away from my wife, I've spent a lot of years doing that sort of thing by myself. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"I didn't do _that_ sort of thing by myself!"

"You didn't? There was a painting of a woman doing it by herself. That never made you want to try it?"

"No!" Laura instantly denied, then finally, she relented a little. Bill's gentle touch giving her courage. "I...I might have thought about it a few times."

"Nothing wrong with giving yourself a helping hand to relax; should help you sleep."

Bill's low rumble vibrated through her body, melting her .

"I'm having a little trouble sleeping now." Laura blushed in the darkness at her own suggestiveness.

"Perhaps I could show you..."

Suddenly, the room lit up from the warm glow of the bedside table's lamp, causing Laura to blink. He wasn't going to allow her to hide in the dark.

"Take your panties off," Bill ordered.

"Off...Completely?" she stammered, yet still complying with his request.

"Yeah, you need to get comfortable." He offered her one of the pillows. "Put this under your hips." His hands pressed her legs open wide.

Bill's resolve almost faltered at the sight of Laura spread before him. The feminine scent from between her legs tempted his senses, and unable to stop himself, he bent down and kissed her once.

Her eyes fell closed and her body arched up immediately, groaning his name.

He reacted, despite the fact he'd thought he was spent from their earlier session. But he would never be able to satisfy her completely just yet. He took some deep breaths to steady himself. Besides, it was important she discovered what she liked for herself.

Laura fluttered open her eyes when she realized Bill wasn't touching her. He lay beside her, his gaze boring through to her soul, causing her to flush anew.

She placed her trembling fingers between her legs, then quickly withdrew.

"I'm not sure..." she whispered.

Bill reached out and took her hand. "It might be easier if you're wet." He slowly drew the index and middle fingers of her right hand into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the digits, moistening them fully before he placed them back on her pubic mound.

"Show me," he rasped, his voice heavy with desire. "Just do what feels natural," he added when she hesitated again.

Laura resisted the urge to close her eyes again. Instead she held Bill's gaze as she began to touch herself.

She started where she was already wet, circling her fingers around.

"That feels good?" Bill asked.

She giggled softly. "It tickles."

She rubbed a little bit harder against her vaginal wall. Her legs fell open wider. She finally let her eyes drift shut again. Dropping her head back on the pillow, she lolled it around in time with the movement of her fingers.

"Do you feel what I feel?" Bill murmured.

She whimpered at the sound of his voice near her ear.

Daringly, she stroked along further, searching for that sensitive part that Bill had introduced her to so recently.

Surprising herself, she found it easily, its nub swollen and begging for her attention. She instinctively flicked it, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until her whimpers becoming gasps.

Bill watched, entranced. This wasn't like some show the hoochie-coochie girls in Hamburg put on in the back rooms behind the strip clubs. This was Laura finding confidence and learning that taking pleasure in her body was not wrong.

Laura began to quiver, biting down on her bottom lip to stop from crying out, the familiar stirrings of fulfilment undulating through her. She tried to slow herself down, not wanting this to end just yet. It was too liberating!

She thrust her fingers back into herself, pushing as hard and as deep as she could go, imagining it was Bill-

"Bill!" she cried out. Her eyes opened and flew to his face. He still watched her, his gaze tender.

Tears rushed to her eyes. She wasn't by herself. She'd never be by herself again. Bill was with her.

She reached out and grasped his hand, guiding him to replace her fingers.

Bill slowly pushed three of his fingers into Laura, filling her as deep as he could. Her fingers returned to twist and flick up higher. They worked in tandem to give her as much pleasure as possible.

"Is that what you need?" he asked. She could only nod rapidly, tears caught on her eyelashes. Unable to resist, he pushed up her nightgown and latched on her breast, suckling hard.

She arched her back, her head tilting backward as she lifted her pelvis higher off the pillow, their hands working in furious unison.

Then she groaned loudly one last time before falling back onto the mattress, her whole body trembling. She pulled Bill's hand away, being altogether too over-sensitized. He gently cradled her mound and began to trail sweet kisses down her neck.

She cupped her flushed face, desperately concentrating on returning her breathing to normal.

"Oh dear," she gasped between pants.

Bill chuckled into her skin. "I guess I should be getting back to my own bedroom then?"

Laura rolled onto her side, hooked one leg in between his and decided to use his chest as a pillow. She fumbled to turn out the light again.

"Not a chance, Mr Adams," she murmured, suddenly very drowsy.

~~AV~~

Laura was having a wonderful dream, a fantasy floating between the the reality of her own familiar bed and the image of a giving lover, who knew everything she wanted before she could ask. Large, warm hands were on her breasts. A mouth on her shoulder blades, nuzzling her spine, pushing aside the straps of her negligee.

She started to roll over, desperate to be with this man in the way you only are in a dream.

"No," rumbled the voice. The voice of her husband. She woke with a smile of her lips. This was no longer a fantasy.

"Stay like this," the smoky tone said. He swept her hem up and stroked her bare skin beneath.

"Bill-" she questioned, pressing her blushing face into the pillow.

"Shhhh," he whispered in her ear as his seeking fingers slid between her thighs. She pushed back against him, her protests still no more than whimpers in the back of her throat. "Bill, I want-"

"I'm gonna give you what you want." His hard length eased between her legs, sliding up to meet his fingers holding her open and waiting. He entered her smoothly, his long releasing sigh floating across her shoulder. "Yeah, just like that..."

Her head lolled back, exposing her neck for him to nip and suckle. This was such a new sensation-pressure in places she'd never felt it... Laura's eyes snapped open; she was fully awake. When he began to move, one hand snaking under her nightgown to find her breast, tweaking the nipple to red heat, she groaned from the depths of her heart. Just as she'd learned last night, her fingers sought the place where their bodies joined, increasing her stimulation.

"Oh God, Laura-" Bill watched her, his eyes glazed with desire. "I gotta-"

"What do you need?" she gasped, reaching back for him.

He rolled them, helping her to rise onto her hands and knees. Her gown slid forward, and frustrated, she tossed it off over her head.

Pushing forward while gripping her hips, Bill snugly positioned himself behind her on his knees, filling her as never before. She cried out.

He stilled instantly, easing back. "Am I hurting you?"

"God, no!" she panted. "More..." Again, she had to hide her burning face under her hair.

Spanning her hips with his big hands, he began bucking into her. She quickly found his rhythm and the room filled with their moans and the dangerous creaking of the bed.

With each thrust, he was stroking some place within her that made Laura shudder uncontrollably. "Bill, I'm-" she cried out, unable to stop the spiral away from her body.

"I've got you," he promised. He captured her swinging breasts, squeezing the taut nipples between his fingers. Holding her tight against him, his thrusts became short and fast, pushing her over the edge.

When she finally stilled, her throat hoarse, she felt him still rigid, filling her. Fumbling, she managed to grip the headboard. Arching her back, she gave him an unspoken invitation.

"Oh God, Laura," he groaned and leaned over her, kissing along her shoulders and back.

"Let go, Bill," she demanded, pushing back against him. "Just let go."

At her command, he began pounding into her, the bed creaking alarmingly again. She didn't expect anything more, just wanted to give him everything for his release, but her legs began to quake anew, and her gasps reached a now familiar pitch for Bill.

He reached under her, finding her swollen and slippery nub, grinding it unmercifully as he felt the hot coil forming low in his groin. Selfish, he wanted her there again-

She tightened around him until he had to let go. As the roar of blood filled his ears, echoing his own bellows, he watched a red flush flow over her back, her curls tossing across her shoulders as she came again.

They collapsed in tangle of limbs onto the pillows, their chests heaving in unison. Reaching for Laura, Bill snuggled down between her damp breasts. "Where have you been all my life?" he mumbled.

She gave a rough laugh, jostling his head. She smoothed the waves of his hair down. "I was wondering the same thing."

"All I know is I'm not goin' anywhere," he promised her, his eyelids fluttering.

She was wide awake. "That was amazing! We have to do it that way every time from now on."

He cracked one one eyelid and spoke into the soft pillow of her breast. "But I like to watch your face when we make love, dearest. Besides, my back and knees can't handle that on a daily basis."

She ruffled his hair back into a wild nest. "Every day, huh?"

"You have any other plans for the immediate future?" he asked, sounding so painfully satisfied, she felt tears pricking at her eyes. Where had he been all her life, indeed...

Then they heard the sound of the doorknob rattling, followed by the scratch of a key in the lock. Frantic, they scrambled apart, pulling the covers up over them. Bill had shed his pajamas before waking Laura; finding them was a lost cause and her gown was wedged under some pillows.

Elosha opened the door. "Miss Laura, what're you doing locking this door?" She stopped. Two flushed faces peeked at her over completely disheveled bedcovers. A certain humidity still hung in the air. She did not enter the room.

"Will you be needing me this morning?" she asked Laura.

"No, thank you, Elosha," replied Laura, her voice muffled. "I believe I can manage on my own."

"Of course," the maid said, backing out of the room and closing the door quietly.

~~AV~~

Bill stood beside Aunt Katherine's chair, listening to her drone on about family history, attempting to appear enthralled. The old woman was trying to make it clear to him just how important of a family he'd married into, but all he'd gathered was some clever shanty Irishman had managed to get in on an early silver mine, and through lying, cheating and backstabbing, had multiplied that into a decent fortune that later generations had so far managed not to lose.

His new gold band on his ring finger glinted when he smoothed the front on his buff-colored double-breasted suit. He still felt a bit odd out of his familiar blue. Laura caught his eye from across the room and beamed with pride at his improved appearance, so he decided it was worth it. She'd convinced him to choose a tie in one of the new vivid patterns and from the look of alarm as Aunt Katerine's gaze kept being drawn to it, he decided the wild zig-zag of purple and green was a good choice.

The doorbell rang faintly in the foyer. Bill felt a tinge of worry. Saul had not come to lunch after all and it was now three hours later...Jaffee came to the parlor's entry, Saul behind him, looking around the palatial home with astonishment.

"Mr Saul Tigh," the butler announced.

Laura had been speaking with Great Aunt Lucy, or rather, yelling into the old deaf woman's poorly functioning hearing aid device.

"Who's that?" whispered the old woman. Although others had to bellow at her, she never spoke above a murmur.

"It's my husband's friend!" shrieked Laura. "He's come to luncheon!"

Saul looked outraged at Bill. "A woman who gets loud when she drinks?" he asked, poking his friend in the ribs.

Smelling spirits wafting off of Saul himself, Bill grabbed his arm and pulled him away. "What'ya doin' here?" he hissed.

"You invited me!" Saul reminded him.

"For three hours ago!"

"I just got the message," grumbled Saul. "Been out."

"I bet." Bill smelled cheap perfume as well alcohol on his friend's crumpled suit. "When's Ellen getting here?"

"She wired. She'll be in Frisco day after tomorrow." Saul peered back into the parlor. "What are you doin' at this wax museum?"

Laura, sensing trouble, had excused herself and drifted toward her husband.

"That's why we asked you over-" Bill started to say.

Laura, at his side, laid her right hand on his forearm. Bill covered her hand with his own. Saul spotted the distinctive green opal ring on her finger and Bill's new wedding ring. His mouth fell open.

"You said you weren't gonna marry this broad!" he bellowed.

Stunned, Laura gasped. Behind them in the parlor, her family began rumbling among themselves.

Even Aunt Lucy was outraged enough to speak up. "What did he say? What did he say?"

Uncle Rufus yelled in her ear trumpet, "He said That Man didn't want to marry our Laurie!" with relish.

Laura hurried to the table where the parlor maid, wide-eyed, was waiting to serve tea. She felt the silver teapots. "This is cooling, Bridgette. Please fetch some more hot water."

Bobbing a curtsy, the young woman dashed away. Laura began arranging the small plates and silverware, already perfectly arranged.

Watching her distress, Bill shot his friend a burning glare. "Dammit, Saul," he growled before striding away.

He joined Laura. "Honey, it's not like it sounds-"

"You didn't want to marry me-" she choked out, confusion warring with her distress. After all, he'd practically dragged her to Reno...

"I just couldn't allow myself to dream that a doll like you would want a lug like me," he said, intense. "That's all I meant when I said that to Saul."

She looked at him, blinking away her tears. "Really?"

"Really. What could I hope to offer you?"

She nudged him, and quickly wiped her nose with her handkerchief tucked in her sleeve. "I just had to show you."

"Exactly." He kissed her cheek and slipped his arm around waist to give her a squeeze.

Mortified by his outburst, Saul sought a chair in the corner, ignoring the unfriendly stares of her elderly relatives. He was urgently in need of a drink but this looked like it was a damn temperance meeting from all the tea cups. Shaking his head, he watched the two lovebirds murmuring and making kissy face. What had his friend done?

~~AV~~

Saul had been sent on his way, and all the relatives bundled into their staid towncars to be carried home. Laura leaned on Bill's shoulder, even more exhausted than the day before.

"Why don't we have a lie down before supper?" she suggested.

"That sounds like just the idea," Bill said and nuzzled her temple.

They climbed the sweeping staircase arm in arm. "My room or yours?" asked Bill when they were on the landing.

"Mine, of course," said Laura, tugging him to her door.

But inside her bedroom, they found Elosha tidying up...She was holding the portfolio.

Like two small children caught with comic books under their pillow, they both blushed, their mouths agape.

Her eyes twinkled knowingly. "I'll put Mr Edgar's special pictures back in the library."

Bill cocked his eyebrow at Laura.

Ignoring him, she went to the vanity. "You'll need the key-" Laura said, deciding to brave it out.

"Don't worry," said Elosha as she slipped around the door. "I have my own."


	15. Chapter 15

Bill finished knotting his tie as he strode into his wife's room, muttering under his breath, "Bridgette brings the tea. Bridgette brings the tea."

Laura wasn't in the bedroom, but he heard movement in the dressing room.

"Darling, need help with those bra hooks?" he asked, chuckling as he came through the door.

Elosha looked up from the drawer she was filling with folded blouses. She raised her eyebrows.

"Damn! I mean, I apologize, Miss Elosha," Bill said, straightening his tie that he'd yanked askew in his shock. Servants popping up everywhere... When was he going to get used to this?

Elosha stated the obvious. "Miss Laura isn't here, Mr Adams."

"Yeah, I see that."

"I believe she's gone down to confer with Mr Zarek and Emily."

"Guess I'll go find her." Bill cleared his throat. "I wanted to apologize, Ma'am."

Her lips quirked at Bill's show of respect. "For what?"

"Runnin' off like that. Not proper for a lady like Laura, but I thought I better strike while the iron was hot." He furrowed his brow. That didn't sound quite right.

She returned to her task, hiding her quivering lips from the uncomfortable man. "It's not my place to say," she said primly.

He wouldn't be cowed by the maid's haughty manner. "You're very important to Laura; I can see that."

"It was time for that girl to grow up," Elosha muttered, more to herself than Bill.

He clasped his hands at his waist, letting the woman talk.

She glanced back at him, looking sheepish. "We've spoiled her a bit, you see."

"I've noticed a few quirks." He grinned.

"But she is very special to the staff. She's all we have left."

Seeing his opening, Bill asked, "She hasn't spoken of her family, other than they're dead. What happened?"

This was a mistake. Elosha's face shuttered. "If she wanted you to know, she would have told you, Mr Adams."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

She closed the drawer with a definite thump. "Yes, sir, I'm very happy for Miss Laura. I think you're giving her what she wants." Now it was the old woman's turn to appear a bit disconcerted by her turn of phrase.

She stepped closer and the tiny woman barely came to his mid-chest. "But if you hurt her, I'll put a curse on you..." She glanced down. "And I won't be cuttin' the _head_ off the rooster. Get it?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, and resisted the urge to salute.

He cleared his throat again. "Guess I better find my bride."

Elosha watched his broad back go out the doorway. She should have seen this day coming from the moment she caught Laura at age twelve in the pantry, kissing the Giovanni's Bakeries' delivery boy, that dark-skinned Italian boy with the wild curls and impish eyes. She sensed at that moment that any future for her charge with a Market Street WASP banker and having his children was a lost cause. With a regretful sigh, the maid collected returned to her tasks.

~~AV~~

"Ah, there you are, Bill," said Laura when he entered her office.

Even as he moved to his wife's side, he looked around the room, suddenly alert. Laura had that blandly polite expression he'd come to recognize as meaning she was guarded. Tom Zarek was at his desk, concentrating a bit too intently on his reports. Emily's cheeks were flushed pink, her head down as she scribbled her notes.

A younger, dark-haired man rose from his chair, waiting to be introduced.

"Louis Houche, this is my husband, William Adams," said Laura. "Bill, this is an attorney with the family's firm."

Bill shook the lawyer's hand firmly, his senses tuning in. At the word 'attorney', Zarek's upper lip had twitched.

Houche simply gave him a business-like smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Laura took a deep breath before speaking. "Mr Houche is here to change my will."

Bill's eyebrows came together. "Listen, I don't need anything-"

He thought he heard a grunt from Zarek. Turning slowly, he stared at the man, but he appeared to be studying paperwork at his desk.

Folding her arms, Laura chose to ignore that noise from her General Manager as well. She knew he believed this was foolish; he'd made himself clear just ten minutes earlier. As had her mild-mannered attorney, much to her shock.

"If I may be frank, this is so rash," Houche had said. "You've known this man a week, Miss Roslin."

Laura had raised her chin, ignoring Tom's nodding and Emily's conflicted expression. "My father spent years at the poker table trying to teach me when to go all in. I've finally figured it out."

Houche had conceded, if reluctantly. And now she had to convince Bill as well?

She didn't want a scene though. She tucked her hand in Bill's elbow. "It is my family's money, and now you are my family."

"If something were to happen to you-" he said unhappily, shaking his head. "I don't want any of this-" He looked around the room again, focusing on the things in it.

"My charities still receive the bulk of the money," she said. "You would just be comfortable-"

"I'd be comfortable back in the boarding house," he pointed out. "I don't need anything-"

"Indulge me," she asked, lowering her voice to a husky level.

He rolled his eyes; he knew he was being manipulated.

Mr Houche cleared his throat behind them. "I'll need a signature of Mr Adams' to present to the bank, ma'am."

Laura's confidence faltered as her attorney retrieved a wad of papers from his briefcase and thrust them onto her desk. She'd timed this all wrong. Bill just needed some time to realize that her opening an account for him was a sensible idea. After all, he couldn't keep his money in a shoebox forever!

Bill peered down at the documents. "What would I be signing for?"

"So that the bank knows what your signature looks like," Tom Zarek drawled from behind his desk.

Bill bristled at Laura's employee's sarcasm, but chose to ignore it for the moment. "I mean, Mr Houche," Bill said in a deceptively quiet voice, "what account has Mrs Adams instructed you to open on her behalf? What am I becoming a signatory on?"

"You'll be able to draw on all of Mrs Adams' personal accounts, without limit, sir. Roslin Industries' accounts will have a limit, I'm afraid."

"And what is that limit, Mr Houche?"

"Two thousand dollars a month, sir."

"Two thousand?" Bill repeated back, shocked.

Mr Houche misunderstood Bill's anxiety. "You can, of course, request funds for more than two thousand, Mr Adams, but you'll need approval from one of the other board members."

Bill swung around to Laura, his mouth agape. " _Other_ board members?" He grabbed her arm and shuffled her to the other side of the office, seeking the tiniest bit of privacy to talk to his overly generous wife. "Laura, you're making me a board member?"

"No, of course not. You'd have to have shares in Roslin Industries to become an actual board member. I'm just giving you my proxy vote. If anything happens to me, you'll be able to vote on any decisions."

Bill stared at her. He could almost see her mind calculating how long she would need to wait before she gifted him shares.

"Laura, you don't run a successful business by letting novices like me make decisions."

"Oh, don't be silly, Bill. All you need is good sense. I'm quite positive a man of your experience will know when you hear a sensible idea or not."

"And the personal accounts? Laura-" Bill started to protest anew, but Laura decided to cut him off.

"You can deposit your own money into one of the accounts if you like, darling," she said, placating him with a little pat to his chest. "Your room has no loose floorboards."

Laura looped her arm through Bill's and led him back toward the desk and the documents awaiting his signature.

"We'd all have your, and Roslin Industries', best interests at heart if something was to happen to you, Miss Roslin." Zarek looked directly at Laura as he spoke, ignoring Bill completely. "It's an unthinkable situation, but rest assured I'd be here to guide the company in the right direction."

Emily let a snort escape.

"Have you got something to add, Emily?" Zarek sneered over at her.

"No, no, of course not. I'm just the secretary."

Bill noticed the exasperated look Laura gave her secretary.

"Although..." Emily hesitated for the briefest moment. "It's Mrs Adams now, Mr Zarek." She gave them all a bland smile. "You forgot for a moment."

This was all the motivation Bill needed. He snatched up the pen and signed the places Mr Houche pointed out to him.

Emily ambled back to her own desk after Tom flashed her a withering look behind Laura's back.

"I'll show you out, Mr. Houche," said Laura, glad that they'd all survived the scene.

~~AV~~

Emily could feel the tension in the air between the two seething men as Laura left. Claiming she needed to check on lunch arrangements, she escaped the room. She was hoping, from the intense gaze on Mr Adams' face, someone else might finally be seeing through Tom Zarek's exterior charm.

The door was barely closed before Bill moved in on Zarek.

"Laura's a gorgeous, smart gal," he growled. "I'm sure all these years holed up in an office with her, you've developed some feelings. But let me tell you, time to turn those off. She's a married woman now, and I'm here to take care of her."

Tom's face turned purple. "I understand," he hissed.

"Good." Bill tugged down his new tweed jacket. He squinted up at Zarek. "And I'll be happy to remind you any time it looks like you're forgetting it."

Before Zarek could reply, Laura returned, her gaze darting from man to man. Emily peeked over her shoulder.

"I need to check on the Burlingame warehouse rebuild, Mrs Adams," Tom said, as he gathered up his papers and shoved them in his briefcase. "I'll be at my Roslin Building office if you need me."

Relieved, Laura said, "Yes, of course."

After Zarek left, Emily's shoulders slumped with relief. She was returning to her desk when Laura told her, "Why don't you go check on lunch, Emily?"

"What? Again?" The secretary protested, then she noticed the predatory way Laura was looking at her husband as he stomped to the window, lighting a cigarette with jerky movements. A retreat seemed a wise action.

"Yes, perhaps I'll coordinate the entire week's menus," said Emily, already to the door.

"You do that," purred Laura, going to close and lock the door behind her.

Leaning against the thick oak, she examined her prey.

Bill blew long streams of smoke from his nostrils. "Laura, I love you, but I don't know how you can put up some a weasel like that-"

She sashayed across the deep carpet. "Tom Zarek has his purposes."

Bill snorted. "So he's your attack dog, huh?"

"Exactly." At his shoulder, she slipped a hand inside his jacket to lay the palm on his thudding heart. "And I know just how much leash to give him."

Bill shook his head. "Just watch that he doesn't slip his collar."

"I keep it good and tight," she boasted, wrapping his blue silk tie around her hand and tugging him into a kiss. He gave her only a peck, but tossed his cigarette out the window.

"But I know a big dog I want to go wild," she said, her hand sliding down to his belt buckle.

"Dammit, Laura," he grumbled, "This is important. I'm still not happy about puttin' my name on those papers. You know the press is going to get wind of it, and it'll come from that slimy son of a bitch-"

Her hand dipped lower to cup the bulge in his pants.

Bill hunched his shoulders. "I'm trying to be serious here," he grumped, but his eyelids slid to half-shut.

"I think we need to take a break," Laura told him, leading him back toward the desk. "Then you can start complaining again, refreshed."

Bill grabbed her wrists, meaning to hold her off, frustrated that she didn't seem to take him seriously. He felt her pulses race faster in his grip. Her eyes lit, and her tongue darted out lick her lips quickly.

"Laura..." He went from angry to aroused in two seconds. He couldn't help it; the hunter in him smelled her adrenaline.

He latched onto her mouth, intent on only teaching her a lesson before getting his point across again. He pressed her back against the desk and she ground her hips into his.

Tossing her head back, she wordlessly offered her neck to him. He accepted it, his lips suckling greedily. But then he backed off, causing her to hiss in discontent.

"Darling, there's a perfectly good bed upstairs-" he pointed out.

She fumbled with his pants' fly. "Oh Bill, you don't know how many times I sat at this desk, wishing for just such a diversion-" She nipped his chin. "Surely you've had these sort of fantasies?"

His hands, as though guided by her thoughts, slid her skirt up to bunch at her waist. "Well..."

Yes. He'd been at his ship's tiny, cramped desk, staring out his porthole at the roiling sea, allowing an occasional sexual fantasy to divert his time...

Her laughter was sparkling. "Darling, you must see the advantages to wealth and position."

He hoisted her onto the desk, scattering papers. "I got the position-"

"We may indulge ourselves in fantasies. No more doldrums for you, my dear..." Her hair spread out in a red cloud across the deep-toned mahogany desktop.

"You're just trying to distract me from having a discussion about the wealth part," he growled. Lifting her black stocking-covered leg, he ran his tongue up the sleek length, making her giggle and gasp at the sensation.

"Is it working?" she finally managed to pant out as she quickly unbuttoned her silk blouse.

"You know it is." His grumble changed to a hiss when she reached down to grasp the bulge in his undershorts peeking from his agape pants.

She grumbled herself; she wanted to touch his hot, tight skin. He pushed his clothing down so his erection sprung out for her hand to grasp. Leaning over her, he latched onto her bra, suckling through the thick satin. When he began rubbing his length against her slick panties, mimicking the action she wanted so badly, her tone turned to a deep, frustrated groan.

"Bill!"

He ignored her demand. His mouth returned to her legs, first kissing the bare thigh between her garter belt and the stocking, then moving to her sleek calf.

"But I wanna keep these on," he muttered, his voice thick. He nibbled up to her ankle bone, holding her high-heeled pump on place. Yeah, he'd had this fantasy all right. That gorgeous woman he met on the dock, a folded bill slipped into her purse, pushing her up against a warehouse's cold, brick wall, lifting her skirt, finding her naked above her stockings, not like this damn barrier-

"Then do it," she growled. She tugged at her panties in frustration. "Just rip them off!"

That stopped him cold. "I couldn't-"

"Bill, I have a hundred more pairs upstairs." Her gaze held his. "Do it!"

He grabbed the fine fabric and tore it open. Laura's head fell back on the desk with relief. She moaned deeply when he entered her, thick yet slick with their combined arousal.

Then gasped in shock when he attacked her bra next, rending the fabric.

His scared face at her reaction made her laugh. "Yeah, just like that," she encouraged him, arching off the desk, offering her swollen breasts to his hands and mouth. Wrapping her legs high under his arms, she beat a tattoo on his back, urging him to thrust harder, deeper, faster...

One of her shoes bounced off his back, rolling away.

"Dammit!" he said, looking over his shoulder at the wayward pump.

Giggling and moaning at the same time, Laura writhed on the desktop, sending pens and pencils spilling onto the floor. The lamp began dancing dangerously toward the desk's edge. When he changed the angle of his penetration, reaching even deeper, her moans grew louder, forgetting that the rest of the household could be walking by the office door. She was hot, ready, so close...

She fumbled at him, getting only handful of his tweed jacket, his fluttering cotton shirttails, his flapping tie-he was still fully dressed. For some reason, this made her even more aroused, flooding their joining. Grabbing the desk's edge, she had the leverage to meet his pounding, rising off the blotter to meet his thrusts.

"Son of a bitch, Laura," he gasped, "You're gonna kill me-" He glanced behind him frantically. "Gotta slow down..."

She gave a little scream when he lifted her bodily off the desk and they tumbled backward into her father's huge leather chair. When they landed, he was driven deeper still and she came with a wail at the unexpected stimulation. She clung to his neck as she shimmied in his arms.

When she finally caught her breath, still gasping damply against his shirt collar-the bastard hadn't even loosened his tie-she accused him, "You did that on purpose."

"All is fair in love and business," he warned her, finally tugging his tie loose and popping the top button of his shirt.

Her shaking fingers joined his, undoing his jacket and shoving it open, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing up his undershirt so she could kiss all along his chest, her hair whispering over his sweaty skin.

Propping herself on her knees in the wide chair, she began to ride him, intent on torturing him too.

He could finally slip off her blouse and ruined bra, tossing them aside. Capturing her bouncing breasts in his palms, he circled her nipples with his thumbs, knowing by now that this sensation drove her crazy.

She returned the favor, grasping his flat nipple in her teeth, biting down just hard enough to make him hiss. In retaliation, he grabbed her bare buttocks, pressing her pelvis against his, putting pressure on her clitoris.

"Dammit," she moaned as she felt another soft orgasm wash over her. "No fair."

He laughed into her neck, right over her jumping pulse. "What's not fair is how you can do that again and again..." He swept her hair back to kiss behind her ear. "And I have to make do with just once..."

"Life's a bitch," she agreed. Holding his shoulders for balance, she rose nearly all the way off his length, then slammed down, over and over.

Grabbing onto the chair arms for leverage, Bill rose off the leather cushion with a skin-ripping sound to meet her. He knew he was lost and the was no stopping the inevitable. His groans rose in pitch. Finally, he couldn't hold back any more but, pinned by Laura to the chair, he felt as though he was a overflowing bottle of champagne, exploding out of control.

As the bubbles finally shot out the top of his head, he heard Laura said, "And then you die."

Bill eventually returned to his body. He was slumped in a office chair, with his beautiful wife, smelling of her light perfume and sex, a combination he decided he loved, draped over his chest.

"Uh, Laura..."

"Yes, Bill?"

"Now what?"

"We need to clean up."

"Yes, I agree." He tried to move, but his bare buttocks were stuck quite firmly to the damp leather. "However, we have to make it to the bedroom with that house full of servants."

Reaching back to the desk, Laura managed to flip on the intercom.

"Yes, Mrs Adams?" came Old Jaffee's deep voice.

"Jaffee, please have all the servants assemble in the kitchen. I wish to review staffing assignments with the recent changes to the household."

"Of course, Mrs. Adams. Right away, Mrs Adams."

"Thank you!" she said cheerfully and flipped off the intercom. Groaning in discomfort, she disentangled their bodies and stood.

"And that's another advantage of wealth, Mr Adams," she stated, but then stumbled. He caught her, his deep chuckle resonating through the room.

She looked around through her tangled curls. "Where the hell is my other shoe?" she grumbled.

He laughed aloud, so happy. "I love you, Mrs Adams."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "Do up your pants, silly man."

Somewhat properly dressed, they peeked around the office door. The coast was clear. They darted to the staircase like guilty children.

~~AV~~

"The Mark Hopkins?" Laura was surprised at the Tighs' choice of hotel. It had to be out of their reach.

"That's what he said," Bill told her. He spotted the cable car coming down the hill toward them, and tucked his arm in hers, ready to help her board. "Only the best for Ellen."

Laura wondered at her husband's tone. It did not have the affection his voice held when he offered her everything within his means. She had her first prickle of worry at this new element entering her marriage. Once they mounted the cable car's running board, she snuggled further into Bill's secure embrace as he gripped the pole, supporting them both.

At the Mark Hopkins reception desk, the desk clerk immediately recognized Laura. "A room, Miss Roslin?" His eyes darted to Bill glowering behind her.

"We're here to visit friends. The Mr Saul Tighs," Laura said crisply.

"Of course," the dapper clerk said. "They're waiting for you in the tea room." He zipped around the large counter to show them the way.

They found Saul and his wife at a back table, being loud enough to turn heads. Saul stumbled to his feet when he spotted the Adams, although he didn't quite meet Laura's gaze.

"There you are," he bellowed. "Take a seat!"

Ellen slapped his middle, a bit low for comfort. "Saul, baby! Introduce me to the woman who's tamed your Billy boy!"

Saul reddened. "Of course." He performed a clumsy half-bow. "Mrs Laura Adams, may I introduce my wife, Mrs Ellen Tigh."

Laura extended three fingers on her gloved hand and briefly squeezed the bare hand of Ellen Tigh. The woman's imperfect lipstick line and glassy eyes surrounded by thick eye makeup made Laura realize with a jolt that the Tighs were drunk at ten o'clock in the morning.

Bill held out her chair and she slowly lowered herself into it, smiling up at her husband.

"Aren't they cute?" cooed Ellen. She leaned close and Laura had to hold her breath at the combination of whiskey and heavy musk wafting off the other woman.

"Honey, I'm so happy to see you're not some kid. You know how men are when they get over a certain age!" Ellen brayed laughter and Saul joined her with his sharp cackle.

Laura put on her polite face. Seeing it, Bill offered her a cigarette. She accepted gratefully.

Ellen was on a roll. She gulped from her 'tea' cup. "We gotta go out tonight." Her head snapped back and forth as she looked from Laura to Bill. "Some classy joint."

"Sure," Bill said carefully. "Welcome you to town." He nodded to the waiter's offer for coffee. "Where you been, Ellen?"

"What do you mean?" The woman's voice became high-pitched.

"You just got into port, right?" Bill said. "Been in the East?"

She flapped her hand. "Oh yes. Thought I'd run off to Shanghai." She nuzzled her husband's cheek. "Got tired of waiting for my Saul."

"That's quite a jaunt," Laura said, only making small talk, but this earned her a dirty look from Ellen.

Ellen tossed her hair, making her small hat slide askew. Laura resisted the urge to straighten it.

"Met your new children yet, Laura?" Ellen asked cattily.

Laura had to think for a moment of who in the world Ellen spoke of. She remembered the picture of two young men in uniform. "No..." She looked at Bill. "Have you contacted them yet with the news, darling?"

Bill stared at his coffee cup. "Not yet."

Ellen gave a raspy laugh. "Something to look forward to, honey," she said.

Raising her chin, Laura stared her down. "Naturally I will welcome Bill's children to our home. I can't wait to meet them."

Thwarted down that path, Ellen moved on. "With your name and money, we can get into any place in town, right?"

Bill's mouth became a thin line. Laura blinked. "Yes," she admitted.

"But that's all so dull, you know?"

"True," Laura said quickly, hoping Ellen would back out for the evening.

But Ellen Tigh had another idea. "So I think we should go to a new place. Some up and coming club. Our appearance will make it _the_ place," she said smugly.

"Great idea, babe!" Saul enthused.

Leaning back in her chair, Ellen's suddenly sober gaze challenged Laura's. "I know just the place. The Number One Lychee Club in Chinatown."

Although she never had heard of the nightclub, Laura felt another stab of concern. She glanced at Bill. He gave the slightest of shrugs, and she remembered, no matter what happened, he'd protect her.

She forced enthusiasm. "Yes, let's."

~~AV~~

With Emily gone from her desk, Tom Zarek lifted the ringing phone. "Roslin Industries," he said, irritation in his voice. Now he was nothing more than an office boy, answering phones...

"No, he's not here right now."

Someone was asking for that bastard Adams already. Had Laura made some changes behind his back?

"I can take a message," he said, bored. Whether he'd choose to deliver it would be another thing.

His pen stilled on the paper. "What did you say your name is?"

He listened, then decided it might be a good idea to introduce himself. "My name's Tom Zarek. I'm the General Manager of Roslin Industries.

"Mr Adams has gone out with his new wife. But I think I can be of a help to you. However, I'll need to call you back from my office."

Scribbling the phone number down, he grinned. He may win this game yet.

THE END

 **We hope you enjoyed the 'smutty prequel'. We have more Adamsverse fics to post soon!**


End file.
